The Sense of Taste
by laurielove
Summary: NOW COMPLETE. Hermione is inwardly struggling to be the perfect wife and mother. Understanding comes from a shocking source. And a certain former Death Eater is equally horrified by his reaction to seeing the muggle-born again. M readers only. LM/HG
1. Chapter 1

**UPDATED STORY NOTES SINCE COMPLETING.**

**I worked on this story on and off for over three years and it is to me a very personal and intimate story. I aimed to be as true to canon characterisation as possible, although clearly after the trauma of the war everybody is going to react to and deal with their new situations differently. But, at heart, I wanted this to be a story of the complexity and intensity of attraction and love. This is a gritty story full of angst, albeit angst with the tang of many lemons.**

**The author's notes which follow in each chapter are most likely the originals and now largely redundant. Apologies.**

**I hope this story conveys a little of the adoration, sometimes dichotomous and never easy, and passion I will always have for this pairing.**

**LL x**

* * *

Rose was having a tantrum and Hugo had just been sick.

While Hermione was trying to placate her four year old daughter, her son tottered into the living room covered in his own vomit, smiling broadly as if he had just achieved a great feat.

Hermione slumped back into the sofa, ignoring her little girl's screams for a moment, trying to blot out the sights and sounds from her mind.

The arrival of Hugo achieved one thing, however. Rose promptly stopped wailing and started laughing and pointing at her brother, who joined in the hilarity and took a step towards his sister, threatening to transfer the offending material onto her.

In the midst of this, Hermione realised that the mood of the room had turned from frantic despair to exultant mirth, and took the opportunity to whisk her children up in her arms and practically throw them into the bath.

She stripped the clothes off and doused her children in the warm water. The laughter continued. Hermione joined in, but after a moment her hilarity faded and she realised she was laughing not so much with shared humour, but manic hysteria.

Her body slid defeated down the bathroom wall, and she hid her face in her hands, trying not to show that her laughter had changed into sobs of despair.

Luckily, the children were engrossed in their bath, and as they proceeded to empty much of its contents onto the floor, Hermione closed her eyes and wept.

Ron was away. Again.

She had not been back to work since Hugo's birth, and her life seemed to be spent in a haze of nappies, Barbie dolls and sick.

Her children were beautiful, enchanting and bright, and she adored them more than she could imagine. She had thought herself to be a good mother, still did, but she no longer felt in control. Ron was a decent father when he was around, but his job took him away a lot, and at those times, resentment bubbled up in Hermione.

She resented the fact that he had the opportunity to get away; resented the fact that he was not there to help her; resented the fact that he existed in blissful ignorance of what she was going through.

She knew the emotion to be futile, to be a sign of bitterness which would eat away uselessly at her, but she could not deny it was there.

Hermione had planned to return to work part-time when Hugo was three and Rose started school. She still did, but she had increasingly felt that the moment could not come soon enough. It was still months away. She did not wish to go back full-time, but the joys of being a stay-at-home mother were not what she had perhaps envisaged. Her mind ached for adult company and conversation. She attended toddler groups, but the conversation invariably centred on children. First time around with Rose, Hermione was happy to join in the discussions on breast feeding and eating regimes, but when Hugo arrived, the novelty had worn off.

Her friends came over when they could, but they were often either busy with their own children or working. And anyway, whenever she had broached the subject of her feelings of frustration and suffocation, they had merely offered her the usual platitudes - "Oh, they'll grow out of it", "It'll be better when you go back to work", or they had droned on about how so-and-so's childcare routine worked wonderfully for them.

Hermione had smiled patiently and nodded. Were their holier-than-thou patronising attitudes genuine? Or was it a bluff, designed to reassure them, build up a wall to conceal the turmoil of their own lives?

She may have wondered about it, but it did little to help her. There seemed to be no-one who understood, no-one she could truly talk to. She started to believe there was something wrong with her; that she was the only mother in the world who felt stifled, smothered. Even her family, although helpful, did not seem to pick up on, or understand her frustrations. Molly Weasley was a great support in terms of babysitting, but being the earth mother that she was, was the last person Hermione would confide in about any anxieties. That would have simply reinforced her feelings of failure.

She had wondered at one point if she had post-natal depression, but the feelings had come too late, not really starting until Hugo was well past two.

In any case, Hermione's problems weren't caused by a sense of loss of her identity, but by a realisation of it. She knew full well who she was and what she was capable of, but simply found herself unable to live in that persona.

Her existence was such a far cry from what had been until the end of the war, that she hardly believed she was the same person.

She tried desperately to suppress her feelings of lack of fulfilment, and on the whole, delighted in her children's company and provided them with an extremely happy, loving and stimulating environment. But there were times, such as today, when the suppressed torments would surface, and she would find herself huddled in a corner, weeping with sudden desperation.

When Ron returned home, he had his own needs, which she believed herself happy to provide for. He was not too demanding, but he enjoyed his food and his sex, and despite invariably being exhausted after a day with the children, Hermione found herself complying with both expectations. She enjoyed his physical proximity, and believed him to be a thoughtful lover. Their love-making had settled into a predictable and rather boring pattern, and would rarely last more than fifteen minutes. She told herself she was satisfied, although she often found herself locked away quietly in her room, bringing herself to a climax, even if he was around.

And she could tell that the feelings of resentment which surfaced when he was gone seemed to melt away on his return, and Hermione would always greet him with great love and happiness. Things were better when he was around, and the burden of childcare was alleviated somewhat. However, Ron still took a back seat when it came to supper, bath, and bedtime, and Hermione found herself cursing him sometimes for not getting up off his arse and helping her. They rarely talked significantly about anything anymore, both were generally too exhausted to do so, and Hermione found the delights of discussing Quidditch rules paling as the years went by.

She would slump in a chair when the children were finally asleep, and Ron was good at providing her with a glass of wine, but it would not be long before a familiar question would be thrown at her. "What's for supper?"

The night of Rose's tantrum and Hugo's vomit-fest, Ron returned late. He walked in, and Hermione beamed genuinely at his grinning face as he kissed her hello.

"How was it?"

He had been to a meeting to discuss the next Quidditch World Cup.

"Yeah, good, I reckon. It's gonna be pretty bloody exciting. Biggest one yet. And what's more – you're looking at the new assistant England coach!"

"Really! Oh my god, Ron, that's brilliant!" She threw her arms around him and clasped him tight, her joy for him warm and genuine.

"Yeah. Seymour announced it as we were on our way home. I'm chuffed to bits. Well, you know how long I've been waiting for something like this."

Hermione was filled with pride. Her husband had been a top-ranked Quidditch coach for an age now, but had never got the call up for the national team. At last he was in. She kissed him hard again. He smiled, a blush crossing his cheeks.

She ruffled his hair and returned to her wine.

"How were the kids?"

"Adorable and charming. Apart from between 2:23 and 4:07 today when I looked into getting them adopted, but by 4:08 I'd changed my mind."

He looked at her, alarmed for a moment, but she merely smiled exaggeratedly. Ron chuckled, not discussing it anymore.

"Oh, nearly forgot to tell you. We'll need a babysitter for Friday."

"Why?" A strange mixture of curiosity and tension filled her. As much as she loved going out; a rare event these days, her husband had a tendency to spring these things on her at the last minute. It never seemed to dawn on him that, _'We'll need a babysitter ...'_ actually meant quite a lot of planning and phone calls and worrying that you had the right person and guilt about leaving your children, especially with only two days notice. And of course, he never sorted one out himself.

"There's a reception at the Minister's residence, part of the planning for the World Cup. Representatives of all the teams and countries and various other bigwigs will be there. You've gotta come, babe. It's important, and I want to show you off to everyone." He grinned at her.

She smiled. It would be nice to go out. She'd sort out a babysitter. Of course she would.

Ron was around for the rest of the week. It was nice to have his company, and the children seemed calmer and more settled. Hermione's mind eased. She found a sitter for the Friday night, and started to look forward to the reception.

"Who did you say would be at this do tomorrow?" she asked over supper the night before.

"Oh the usual Quidditch lot, a few ambassadors and the like from the different countries, quite a few old bores from the Ministry, y'know." He put a large forkful of lasagne into his mouth.

"Anyone I know?"

"Well, Harry'll be there, Kingsley I s'pose. Oh, I'm afraid I think Malfoy's going. He's managed to wangle his way back into these things recently."

"Draco?" Hermione's heart sank. That was one part of her former life she did not want reminding of.

"No, I mean his dad, and mummy dearest I suppose. Malfoy Senior's on the consultancy committee for cultural links during the tournament, or some poncy thing like that."

Hermione rolled her eyes in despair. If anything, she hated the older Malfoys more than their son. She could not forget their role in the lowest point of her life. She had suffered her night of torture at the hands of Narcissa Malfoy's sister, in Lucius Malfoy's house. It had always mystified Hermione how Harry had been so quick to exonerate them after the war. If it had been up to her, they would all be rotting in Azkaban for the rest of their lives.

She had hoped that after the war they would disappear from society. Indeed they had for a while, but they now seemed to have crawled back out of the woodwork, reputations largely and, to Hermione at least, mystifyingly restored, and were appearing at more and more functions and events. She supposed with cynical disdain that it was largely due to the vast amounts of money Malfoy threw at organisations to gain reacceptance.

"Oh well," she sighed. "I suppose the Minister's house is big enough for me to avoid them."

Ron smirked at her. "Course it is. Don't worry about that, babe. They're not worth it."

Hermione had pulled out a dress for the reception she had not worn since before the children were born. It was red satin and fell to the ground with an open back. She had wondered if she would still get into it, but was surprised when she found it an even better fit than before. She hadn't realised how much weight she had lost recently.

The dress was quite simple and could be worn to formal and semi-formal events, but as she put it on that Friday night, she wondered if it was too daring for the Minister. She nearly took it off, but Ron had come into the room just as she was looking at herself. He had been bowled over by her appearance.

"Blimey! You look incredible! I know I said I wanted to show you off, but ..."

"It's too much," she had said quickly, starting to undo it. "I'll take it off."

Ron was quick to stop her. "No, no. Please don't. You look beautiful. I'll be really proud of you."

She had smiled and kissed him warmly, pulling the dress back over her shoulders.

They arrived at the reception later than intended, due to issues with the children settling with the babysitter. Most of the guests were already there and the house was alive with the sound of conversation and company. Hermione took a glass of champagne and made her way into the main reception area.

She soon fell into easy conversation with some of her ex-colleagues. It was good to catch up; it reminded her again of her old life and how she missed it.

Later the Minister himself came over to see her, commenting on her dress and how lovely she looked. Harry approached them with Ginny and they were able to spend a few minutes just talking with them, away from the bustle of ministry intrigue and Quidditch banter, although Hermione and Ginny suspected that neither Harry nor Ron would have minded if they had spent the entire evening talking of nothing but Quidditch.

At a certain point she stood with Ron while he spoke to a broomstick consultant. Hermione had little to add to the conversation and allowed her eye to wander round the room. There were several people she had not seen for a while.

Suddenly a loud, shrill female laugh sounded from across the room. Hermione glanced over to the source. It was Narcissa Malfoy. She had clearly had too much to drink. Hermione noticed her glazed eyes. The sight of the woman immediately turned her stomach, but she continued to stare over at her. Mrs Malfoy was leaning in unevenly to a portly man next to her, who did not seem remotely worried about her state of inebriation.

Hermione's eyes moved to a man dressed in black on her other side. Her gaze moved up the taut body to the man's face. It was the woman's husband. Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. She had not seen Lucius Malfoy for years, not since his trial after the war, when Harry had exonerated both him and his wife. He had not changed. She noticed curiously that he did not look a day older. He must be in his early fifties now, but easily appeared at least ten years younger. As she allowed herself the time to study him properly for the first time, she supposed he must be considered good-looking. The interaction between him and his wife was fascinating.

Lucius Malfoy stood looking down at Narcissa with an expression of pinched revulsion on his face. As another laugh punctuated the air, his face flinched and he pursed his lips further.

Hermione watched the little scene with curiosity. Malfoy Senior certainly seemed to be disdainful of his wife. Considering Narcissa's current state, Hermione could not blame him. She had always thought the Malfoys, despite their past and reputation, to be a close family, devoted to each other. Perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps the events of the war and the time since had changed them.

She continued watching as Narcissa drained her glass and reached out for another as a waiter passed by with a tray. Before she could bring it to her lips, her husband had removed it from her grasp and placed it back on the tray. Narcissa turned to him, a look of contempt on her face. Words passed between them, but it was impossible for Hermione to hear what was said.

With that, Ron finished his conversation and ushered his wife into a different room.

They moved away, and Hermione dismissed the Malfoys from her mind.

As the evening wore on, Hermione started to feel her limbs grow thick and heavy with the signs of encroaching tiredness. She had taken the children to the zoo earlier and only now realised what an exhausting day it had been. As Ron and the England head coach started to discuss team lists, she excused herself and headed outside.

The cool air immediately revived her, and she walked a short distance out onto the terrace, letting the sounds of the party drift further away. Hermione inhaled deeply, feeling as if the air itself would restore her soul as well as her alertness. The moon's light, reflected on a pond just below the terrace, imparted a cooling blue glow to her surroundings and the heady scent of roses caressed the air. She closed her eyes and stood completely and deliberately still, enjoying her moment of perfect peace and solitude.

She could sense the moonlight through her closed lids and turned her head up and to the left towards it. The light grew brighter behind her shut eyes. She smiled to herself. The constancy of the moon was always a comfort.

"I trust you are well, Miss Granger?"

A voice spoke behind her. She was surprised, but not startled, as the voice was familiar to her. It was deep, eloquent and refined, and underpinned with a keen intelligence. Hermione felt an immediate affinity with it. She had heard it before, but could not remember where. She stared into the shadows to see who had spoken to her.

The owner of the voice stepped forward. It was only then that Hermione reeled in shock.

It was Lucius Malfoy.

She turned swiftly away from him, stunned and distressed that she had not recognised his voice earlier, horrified that she had thought it a voice of someone she knew, perhaps even a friend.

She drew her arms around her and turned her back, ignoring him.

Footsteps approached her, causing a grip of tension to hold her. _Why was he here?_

"These functions can be remarkably tedious, I'm sure you agree?"

Malfoy had come to stand directly beside her. Hermione could sense his presence, but refused to look around. She breathed deeply with anger at his presumption. Despite not looking directly at him, she was surprised by how tall he was. She had never really noticed before. And there was something else; an aroma which she knew was coming from him. It overwhelmed the scent of the roses, but Hermione could not deny its allure. It was a deeply aromatic perfume, with the merest hint of musk. She wrinkled her nose slightly in an attempt to rid it from her senses.

"Come, Miss Granger, we are on the same side now, surely? Can we not manage one or two civil words to each other?"

His words immediately inflamed her and she could remain silent no longer, hissing out to him, "I am no longer called Miss Granger. And I cannot ever imagine you and I being ... _on the same side_."

He continued without missing a beat. "How can you be so sure, Miss Granger? There are many aspects of my previous life that I have re-evaluated over the last few years."

She laughed in derision and countered sardonically, "How lovely for you. And how convenient that your moral reawakening managed to keep you out of Azkaban."

He was silent for a while before continuing, "Cynicism is not an attractive trait."

"Neither is malicious bigotry and a proclivity for torture." Her retort was immediate.

They were silent for a moment, but neither moved. She expected him to go. He did not. Finally, with a faint huff of exasperation she turned to him.

"Why are you still here?"

"I came outside to take some air," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Well, why don't you take some air over there, away from me?" She pointed to the other side of the pond.

"I did consider doing so, but you see ..." He turned his head to look down at her."I find myself rather enjoying our little conversation."

She tutted and turned away again, determined not to humour him by continuing it.

Hermione heard him breathe in deeply next to her. "Yes. I do not think I can stand much more of this little gathering. The company is rather stifling, do you not find?"

She did not answer.

He continued, his voice deep and silky. "Indeed, I should imagine, that with two young children, no intellectual stimulus from a job, and Mr Weasley to have to minister to at home ... you find your entire life rather stifling."

Hermione spun to look at him, her eyes widening in shock. She was met with deep grey infinity, staring straight into her soul.

"What did you say?" She tried to sound indignant, but only managed to murmur it out in confusion.

On seeing her reaction, Lucius Malfoy's mouth twitched at the corners into the faintest hint of a smirk.

"I was simply expressing my sense that you may be finding certain, if not all, aspects of your life rather ... suffocating ... at the moment, Miss Granger. Judging by your reaction ... apparently I was right."

Hermione could only stand staring at him, her mouth hanging open in shock. How could this man, this man who represented all things she abhorred, whom she still believed to be evil, whom she knew to be bigoted, prejudiced and judgemental in the worst possible sense, how could he pick up on the turmoil of her life when everyone else, including her family, her friends, her husband, had failed?

Her face flinched and she shook her head unknowingly in disbelief.

"How ... _how dare you_?!" She reacted with fierce anger, terrified by his words. "How dare you presume to tell me what is going on in my life? I have a wonderful home, a wonderful husband and two children whom I adore and love. I am perfectly happy."

His smirk widened imperceptibly. "Of course you are."

She hugged herself tight and spun her head away from him. "Go away." Her words were spoken with low desperation, as she tried unsuccessfully to hide the emotion in her voice.

He drew himself up and slowly turned to her. "As you wish. Goodbye, Miss Granger. I have enjoyed our little ... chat."

She grimaced and turned once again to him, almost shouting in exasperation. "I ceased to be Miss Granger five years ago, when I took on my husband's name. Why do you persist in calling me that? "

He looked at her momentarily then spoke, surprising himself with the unexpected honesty of his answer. "I could never associate you with that other name. He is not worthy of you."

Hermione simply stared at him for a time. He stared back.

As she stood before him, tears began rolling down Hermione's cheeks. Still, she did not move, but spoke low and fierce to him, "Get out of my sight."

Malfoy inclined his head slightly to her and stepped back. "Until next time, Miss Granger."

She recovered enough to call after him, "I sincerely hope there will not be a next time."

"You say that with surprising conviction, Miss Granger."

"Surprising? Why _surprising_ conviction?"

He waited until she at last met his eyes before responding. "Because we both know you don't mean it."

Her eyes could not move from his, although she willed them to with all her resolve. Malfoy held her gaze equally, then suddenly he nodded to her again, turned and was gone.

Hermione drew in a deep juddering gasp of air. It was only then that she realised she had been forgetting to breathe.

Hermione stood in the garden for a while after her encounter with Malfoy.

His stark words had seared her. How long had she waited for someone to come straight out with it, to see what was happening in her life, to understand the vice-like grip she felt squeezing the life-force from her every day of her existence. She had reached out to her friends, her family, but they were either too busy, too disinterested, or too martyr-like to respond to her. She was sick of the platitudes, the stock responses and reassurances.

None of them were her. None of them had been through what she had been through. None of them had left behind a life so different to what she had now.

And now this. _This man._ This wizard who had witnessed her at the lowest moment of her life, at the time where she had been stripped bare, her soul exposed, crying out. Why him? Why had he, when all others had failed, been able to see what she was truly going through. And his words. They echoed in her mind. He had said so much in so few words. _He is not worthy of you._ Hermione shut her eyes tight, trying to squeeze the phrase from her mind.

Lucius Malfoy represented all she abhorred; his prejudice, his intolerance, his arrogance, not forgetting the fact that he had been Voldemort's second. As she stood, his aroma still lingering in the air around her, she swayed on her feet

It was too much to think about. She tried to eradicate his words from her head, but his parting shot remained. She had said she hoped they would not meet again. His response rang through her head. _We both know that isn't true._

The arrogance of the man! It was intolerable.

She huffed in frustration and turned swiftly, storming back into the party. Luckily, Ron was looking distinctly jaded. His face brightened as she came up to him.

"Hey, babe. Where've you been? Most people have gone. Do you wanna head home? I've had it to be honest."

"Yes. Let's go. The sooner, the better. Come on. We said we'd be back by eleven for the babysitter anyway." She held her hand down to him and practically pulled him up onto his feet. As he rose unsteadily, she hugged him tight to her and kissed him.

"Whoa! Where'd that come from? Not that I'm complaining." He smiled blearily.

As they left, Hermione was aware of a pair of cool grey eyes fixed on her from the corner of the room.

Lucius Malfoy sat in the dark solitude of the drawing room at Malfoy Manor, a half empty glass of whisky in his hand, scowling.

The reception he had had to attend the previous night had been tedious. Narcissa had not helped matters by making a fool of herself yet again by consuming too much alcohol, and there had been all those Quidditch yobs to butter up.

But it wasn't that which had plunged him into the foul mood he now found himself in.

He thought back over the events of the previous evening. Narcissa had become drunk, but had luckily been taken home early by some of her friends. He had felt obliged to stay, partially to make amends for his wife's behaviour. But the party had grown increasingly dull and he had stepped outside for some air.

Standing on the terrace, bathed in moonlight, was a woman. She was slender and elegant, standing there, tall but surprisingly fragile in the blue darkness. Her thin dress hung down her, open at the back, so that the elegant curve of her spine was highlighted by the shadows. It fell further in a drape of silk, caressing her hips and legs. Her hair was lush, with silky curls tumbling down around her, the edges alight as if with St Elmo's fire as the moon caught them. He saw her breath moving her, and the base of her back rising and falling gently; an extraordinary combination of strength and vulnerability. He had never seen anything like it. It was a sight of sheer perfection.

The vision was so exquisite he had gasped in with wonder. All his life he had sought beauty, sought perfection. It had always eluded him. He had nearly lost his home in his quest for it, his family ... his soul. And now, here it was, suddenly, unexpectedly, standing before him, so simple as to melt his mind with confusion.

He could only stand and gaze on her. If his life had ended at that moment, he would have been happy.

And then she turned her head toward the moonlight. Her face was exquisite; even more beautiful than he could have imagined, completing the image.

Beautiful and terrible, because it was then that he recognised who it was. It was the Granger girl.

He had stood, horrified, ashamed, entranced. The mudblood girl. The embodiment of all he despised and abhorred. He may have turned from the dark ways, but his pureblood beliefs had not died. He still detested muggles, still despised muggle-borns, and she was the epitome of his prejudice.

But still he had stood, unable to move. He waited for the revulsion to take him, bear him away from her. But it did not. Her beauty was so mesmerising, so consuming, her sublimity so profound, that he found himself instead frozen to the spot.

He needed to reach out, needed to make contact with her. And so, drawn to her by a force he did not understand, he had spoken to her, calmly, with a touch of concern which had surprised even him. He had approached her, he had needed to. He had walked up to her and stood in close proximity. Immediately it had sent a rush of blood to his head. He had spoken further after her initial silence. A silence he could hardly blame her for.

She had not been polite. He had not expected it, but still he conversed with her.

He had spoken intimately to her, saying things he would not say to anyone else. And yet, at that moment, they had been the right things to say, the natural things to say; things he thought quite obvious. He knew enough about her to form an opinion; Draco had kept him informed about what was happening in the lives of the Weasleys and Potters. It had always provided amusement around the dinner table.

It was clear to him that she was not happy, not satisfied with her life. It seemed obvious why. She had two small children. He recalled Draco's early days. The strain on his marriage, on his wife, and indeed on him, had been unbearable. Granger was remarkably intelligent. She had had a high-powered, stimulating job at the Ministry and now she was at home all day. And she should never have married Weasley. That too was obvious to him.

And he had found her alone, breathing in the moonlight.

He had simply spoken the truth. His words had surprised and upset her. It was curious to him.

After the encounter, he had waited until she had left, watching her all the while.

But now, in his home, the seat of the Malfoys, his ancestors, the manifestation of his beliefs, his values, he thought back on his meeting with her. Why had this girl entranced him? Enthralled him so?

_How dare she?_ How dare she, a little mudblood tart, enter his mind so instantly and profoundly?

He desperately wanted her to be gone from his head, had drunk copious amounts to try to wash her away. But the more he drank, the more she seemed to engrain herself there.

And there was more. Not only was she in his head, she was in his body. It was not just his blood which had stirred last night. The dull throb in his groin was undeniable.

He took another gulp and scowled. Even now, sitting here, her image before his eyes, he felt the ache between his legs. He shifted in his seat, trying to subdue it. He could not.

He knew what he wanted. He knew what he wanted above all else.

He wanted to possess her, possess her body, enter her, feel her enveloping him ... taste her. He wanted to taste her mouth, that full red mouth which had been so close to him. But more ... he wanted to taste her essence, her womanhood. He wanted to strip away all she had and meet her at the core of her being, at her most vulnerable, at her most alive. To feel her on his lips and tongue, to breathe her in, drink her down ...

He closed his eyes and groaned into the room, partially through desire, partially through angry frustration. Slamming the glass down next to him, its contents were thrown out onto the side table and floor.

"Fuck!" he hissed in anger.

Malfoy rose and strode to bring the decanter to him, pouring another full glass. His mouth watered, but not with desire for the amber liquid in the glass. He inhaled deeply, almost imagining he could smell her already, and threw a large mouthful of whisky down his throat in a vain attempt to rid himself of the idea of her.

Since Narcissa there had not been another woman, despite the fact that their sex life had grown tiresome and predictable long ago. Sex was a rare occurrence between them now. He had not thought he cared. He found ways to assuage his needs, normally locked away in a far corner of the house. It was curious to him, as he had always considered himself a strong, skilful and sensitive lover. Indeed, in the early days of his marriage he and his wife had been insatiable, and although she was far from experimental in her tastes, they had enjoyed a passionate early life together. Before his marriage, he had had many women, and had tried many different things. Life had been good in that respect.

How different now. He suspected Narcissa had affairs. If truth be told, he did not care if she did. If it made her tolerably more pleasant to live with, so be it.

But he had never taken another woman. Sometimes he wondered why. He did not believe it to be through moral rectitude. He had simply never found a woman whom he considered worthy of him, who would present him with enough of a challenge, and therefore, he had never found any desirable. He knew he was attractive to women; significantly so. He noticed the looks, the flirtation. There had even been several direct suggestions and requests, some from women his wife would have called good friends, but all had gone ignored or haughtily declined. They were simply of no interest to him.

And now, the first time he had ever felt that stirring of intense longing deep within, the thought that he desired someone above all else, someone who must be worthy of him, it was her.

The mudblood.

The Granger girl.

His stomach churned. He was not sure if it was with revulsion or another surge of desire. He suspected the latter.

He took another slug of whisky.

Placing a hand over his eyes, he rubbed hard down his face, as if trying to scrub her face out of his memory. It did not work.

With his eyes open, he could merely see her standing beside him, with them shut, her deep brown eyes, staring in defiance at him, burned behind his lids.

He had to have her.

This burn, this searing pain of need would not go away until it was addressed.

He groaned aloud again and drained the glass before pouring himself another.

He would have her. Just once.

That would be enough. That would take away the thirst the alcohol he was now pouring relentlessly down his throat did not.

The front door sounded. Sharp footsteps followed. Narcissa came into the room.

"Oh," she said with terse surprise. "Are you still up?"

"Apparently," he drawled with sardonic dryness.

"It's ridiculously dark in here. Why don't you put some lights on?" She flicked her wand and the room immediately blazed with light. Lucius flinched and squinted against the sudden visual onslaught.

"Where have you been?" he scowled over to her.

"With Druella Goyle and the others. We were playing bridge."

"How is the fat cow?"

Narcissa sighed. "Really, Lucius, you could at least pretend to be tolerant of my friends."

"I merely speak the truth. She is grossly overweight and looks like a large bovine creature, her udders scraping the floor."

Narcissa chose to ignore this and lit a cigarette instead. She looked at him sharply. "Is that whisky you are drinking?"

"Correct."

"I thought as much. The colour is too light for firewhisky."

"Your powers of observation are staggering, my dear. But then, as it pertains to alcohol, that is hardly surprising."

She rolled her eyes a little and approached the drinks cabinet. "What has happened to all the firewhisky?"

"I drank it."

Narcissa turned to him in surprise. "Oh." She walked over. "You really are in a foul mood, Lucius. Perhaps you should go to bed."

He studied the contents of his glass. "Perhaps I should. Although when I do, it will not be under instruction from you."

She sniffed derisively. "Did you stay late at the reception last night? I haven't really asked you about it."

He did not look up. "Not especially."

"I saw Potter was there, and Weasley, with her, his wife."

Lucius did not respond, merely stared into his glass, swirling the liquid.

"Did you see them?"

"Hmm."

"Funny isn't it? Do you remember that night, all those years ago, in here? Bella crucioing her, time and time again."

Lucius' eyes flicked up, the image of the girl lying writhing in agony, screaming, screaming, passing across his vision. He looked out at the direct place it had happened and a sudden wave of nausea swept over him. He gagged and brought his hand to his mouth, rising and rushing from the room.

Narcissa tutted after him. "Really, Lucius, it is not like you to drink so much. You should control yourself."

Hermione and Ron had returned home quickly after the reception. Luckily, the children had behaved well and were fast asleep. The babysitter left by floo and Ron went to bed. Hermione had stayed up a while longer, although found her mind dominated by her encounter with Malfoy.

As she sat there in the semi-darkness, she realised that it wasn't just his apparent ability to see into her soul which was disturbing her. His physical presence too had been tangible as he had stood beside her, his aroma intoxicating. She could not deny it. The whole occurrence had been exciting.

She stood abruptly and took herself to bed rapidly, cuddling into her husband, who was already asleep, in an attempt to blot out the night.

The next day dawned with familiar mundanity. Rose came crashing into their bedroom at half past six and Hugo woke up demanding milk a short time later.

The image of Lucius Malfoy was pushed to the back of her mind, somewhere behind overdue library books and the need to contact Rose's future school about uniform.

It would not remain there for long.

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**You know I love to hear your thoughts, good, bad, indifferent. LL x**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's chapter two for you!**

**Thank you for all the lovely reviews and comments. It is nice to be able to say hello again to some familiar names and also to some new ones as well! Can I say a special thank you to those unregistered and anonymous reviewers whom I cannot get in touch with personally. A special mention goes to Susan (dogwoodfarm) who, in the last few weeks alone, has reviewed just about every chapter of every story I have written- THANK YOU - that is truly beyond the call of duty and greatly appreciated!**

**Anyhow - hope you all enjoy what is to come ... LL xxx**

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The regular tedium of everyday life ensured that the events of the reception were soon largely forgotten. The following weeks passed in similar form. Rose went to nursery two mornings a week, giving Hermione time alone with Hugo, which she appreciated. Routine took over again, and her moments of panic at the suffocating nature of her life were few and far between.

Hermione found herself slipping back into the predictable persona of smiling contented mother. She chatted amicably to other mothers about the benefits of baby yoga and engaged in apparently (judging on the energy levels employed) stimulating discussions on how to ensure a place at the best school around. It seemed so normal, everyone was so similar, that Hermione generally forgot for a time to question its validity. Even if she had wanted to, her life was so full of frantic triviality, that she did not have the time to do so.

She did not stop to think that her issues were not being solved, simply being masked over by further layers of the same problem.

But, as tended to happen from time to time, the pressure cooker of her life was threatening to explode once again.

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Thus Hermione found herself, several weeks after the reception, on a shopping trip.

She had visited muggle London and then gone on to Diagon Alley. Hugo was in his hoverchair, a device similar to a pushchair or stroller, but instead of wheels, it simply hovered over the ground, allowing it to be easily manoeuvred around the streets. When in muggle areas, wheels descended to make it appear like any other muggle stroller, but now, safely within the magical world, it hummed around the streets a foot or so above the ground, swaying erratically due to the huge weight of shopping Hermione had piled onto the handles. Rose was under strict instructions to hold onto it.

Hermione was struggling. She wished she could simply apparate away to the house now. Unfortunately, apparating with young children was not recommended, and besides, she had too much stuff to enable it successfully. She had bought far more than she had intended and a slight sense of panic started to well up in her as to how exactly she was going to get home. Ron was not back until later and she knew of no-one in the vicinity that she could call on to help her out. She realised she may even have to take the muggle bus, or even waste money on a muggle taxi.

A group of witches hurried past her and knocked some of the shopping off the handles of the hoverchair. They moved on unaware.

"Thanks a lot!" Hermione could not help calling loudly and sarcastically after them. She was forced to stop in the middle of Diagon Alley and try to pick up the bags. Hugo started to cry and Rose looked suspiciously as if she was about to scamper off into the crowds.

"Don't move, Rose. Mummy just has to pick up her things. Stay next to me."

The crowds were getting worse, and the feeling of panic inside Hermione started to build inexorably.

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Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway of Twilfitt and Tatting's watching this little scene unfold. He was up in London for a few days on business and had stopped by Diagon Alley for a book he had been meaning to buy for some time. He found it curious that he should see the Granger girl so soon after the reception, so soon after she had invaded his thoughts so powerfully. He did not believe in fate, but even he could not ignore the significance of the moment.

He had in fact spotted her several minutes before, and had followed her discreetly, wondering if the feelings he had felt at the reception would be as strong again. They were.

The test of his emotions had been a mere technicality. He had thought about the girl every day since that night. He had almost immediately given up trying to drown her from his mind. He knew there was only one way to do that. And so he instead expended his energy on planning how he could see her again, how he could achieve his aim.

Strangely enough, this chance encounter in Diagon Alley was entirely fortuitous. He had no idea she would be there today.

He now hung back, absorbing the sight before him.

The mudblood was clearly getting distressed. The situation was fast starting to overwhelm her. For a moment Malfoy could not move, did not want to. It was intriguing to him to see this woman, whom he normally witnessed so in command of a situation, coming apart before him.

He hardly noticed the two children with her, the chaos of the bags and clothes falling around, all he saw was the woman herself, her hair coming undone and cascading in frantic curls over her face, her cheeks flushed through exertion and concern, her lips swollen and deep red with the increase in her blood flow.

She looked utterly delectable.

The feelings which had hurtled to the surface at the reception, the feelings he could not deny, now reinforced themselves with desperate potency, physical and emotional. His mind and body reeled. The image before him, which to anyone else was simply a picture of mundane familial chaos, was exquisite.

He knew he would approach her. She presented him with the perfect opportunity. Did he actually care about her welfare or that of her children? He was not sure. Considering who she was, and who the father of the children was, he thought it very unlikely. Still, as he stepped out of the doorway, he found his thoughts forming into an expression of concern, which even to him, felt remarkably genuine.

"Miss Granger. May I offer you some assistance?"

Hermione looked up from her position doubled up over the bags, her hair dangling so as to mask her view of the man standing before her. But this time she recognised the voice instantly. Hermione was surprised with the sudden, undeniable relief that swept through her. She convinced herself that this would have occurred no matter who had approached her. The fact that it was Lucius Malfoy was of no import, surely.

Still, although she was immensely pleased to be approached by anyone she recognised, her pride did not allow her to acknowledge him, and she lowered herself to her task again, ignoring his intervention.

Lucius smiled to himself at her predictable reaction. He found it strangely satisfying that she still found his presence objectionable. That was how it should be, was it not?

Still, he did not, could not turn from her and found himself saying, "You are clearly in need of succour." He smirked at his deliberate choice of word. He had said it with such sensual aplomb. "How can I help?" As much as he wished to deny it, he knew he meant his words.

"I am perfectly alright, thank you." Hermione spoke through gritted teeth, trying desperately to reassemble and balance the bags on the hoverchair, which was lurching drunkenly under the weight. Hugo was becoming increasingly distressed.

"You are clearly far from alright. Here, allow me." With that he reached out and took the bags from her grasp. She held them back; he tried to tug them from her. His fingers ended up encircled over hers. Hermione looked down at the point of contact, not alarmed, merely curious. His touch was remarkably warm and firm, but not threatening.

_Strange, _she thought_, he feels completely human_. Had she been expecting something else?

They both froze. Lucius too was entirely focused on the feel of her soft, tender, but surprisingly strong fingers under his. How odd that such a tiny hand should exude such confidence.

After what must have been several long seconds where they both stood still, staring at their conjoined hands, Hermione at last came to her senses and whispered low but ferociously to him, "Don't touch me."

He did not remove his hand, and slowly her eyes raised to meet his. Like that night at the reception, she immediately felt as if she was drowning in the expanse of grey that met her. Hermione noticed too, for the first time, his high cheekbones, his smooth porcelain-like skin. She felt a violent twist in her belly and wondered for a moment if she would faint. She furrowed her brows in an attempt to refocus her mind, but still could not look away. Neither could he.

Lucius stared into her brown orbs, enthralled by the depth and intelligence he saw there. Never, in anyone, pureblood or otherwise, had he seen anything like it. He inhaled deeply and smelt her. Her perfume, citrus but with deeply sensuous undertones, rose up to him, enhanced by the glow of perspiration which was caught in the indentation at the base of her neck. His hand tightened on hers. She did not pull back.

Then suddenly something snapped in Hermione's mind. Her mother's instincts overrode all other emotions and she darted her eyes away from his.

"Where's Rose? Where's my little girl?"

Rose was no longer by the hoverchair. There was no sign of her anywhere. Hermione looked around in panic. The crowds were heavy and oppressive. Rose could have gone anywhere, could have been taken anywhere. She at last pulled her hands away from Lucius'. A cold sweat broke out over Hermione's body and she cried out, spinning desperately around, her hand clasped to her forehead. "Rose! _Rose?!"_

Lucius picked up all her belongings and moved them to the side of the street. With a flick of his hand, he brought the hoverchair to rest beside them. He held Hermione's arm and guided her over to stand next to them. This time, she did not notice his touch.

"Stay there," he said firmly. With that he disappeared into the crowds, his tall form moving fluidly through the throng of people, which seemed to part instinctively for him.

Hermione could do nothing. She could not leave Hugo, but for some strange reason, she had confidence in the blond wizard whom she found herself with. She raised herself up on tiptoes, searching over the heads of the crowds, the occasional sob or cry for her daughter emanating from her.

And then, after what seemed an age, but in reality was only a minute or so, she saw them.

Malfoy was striding towards her, Rose clasped tightly in his arms.

Tears of relief tumbled down Hermione's cheeks. As they approached, she could not help but notice that Rose seemed remarkably calm in his arms, and that he looked very at ease carrying her.

She managed not to abandon Hugo to run out to them, but as soon as they were close, she grabbed Rose out of his arms and clasped her so tight her daughter struggled to get away.

"Don't you ever ever do that again, do you understand? What on earth do you think you were doing?"

"I was bored. You were looking at the man."

Hermione blushed scarlet and guilt flooded her. She took it out on Rose, raising her voice loudly. "Don't you know what could have happened? You could have got lost from Mummy for a long long time. A bad man could have taken you away."

Rose looked up at Lucius and pointed to him. "_He's_ not a bad man. He found me."

Hermione suddenly remembered what Lucius had done. No matter how else she thought of him, he had found her child quickly and calmly. She stood up, almost unable to meet his eyes again, partially due to embarrassment, partially due to the fear that she would be unable to look away.

"Thank you," she mumbled, softly but genuinely. "Had she gone far?"

"Not really. She was looking in the sweetshop window. And now, Miss Granger, I think it best that we get you home."

She tried once again to put him off, but sounded far from convincing. "I'm sure I can manage."

"Oh, I find that highly unlikely. I doubt very much that you will allow me to discover your address, so may I suggest this. You take your children home. I will apparate from here to my London home with your shopping. I am staying there at the moment. At a convenient time, you may come over to my house and take your belongings. You should be able to apparate them away in two trips, I should imagine."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest.

"Oh really, Miss Granger, believe me, what interest do I have in ..." he glanced into one of her bags, "nappies and ... '_Music and Art in Europe Between the Wars_'?" He raised his eyebrows slightly as he read the title on the spine of the book she had purchased, but his meaning was clear.

Hermione felt distinctly uncomfortable. She did not particularly want to know where Lucius Malfoy lived. But as she looked down again at her dejected children, and the piles of bags now clutched in the wizard's hands, she could only give in.

She sighed deeply. "Alright then. I'll take these two on the tube and then I'll have to get someone to watch them, so it may take a couple of hours. Where do you live?" She took out some paper to write it down.

"23 St James' Gardens, Kensington."

"Flat number?"

"There is none. I own the entire house."

She looked up in amazement. A whole townhouse in Kensington would be worth tens of million at least. He was smirking a little. She tried to hide her expression.

"Right. Thank you. I shall see you as soon as I can."

"I look forward to it with anticipation, Miss Granger."

She glanced up at him. His smirk had broadened. Her belly twisted again. She lowered her head, held Rose tightly in her hand and manoeuvred the hoverchair away and out of Diagon Alley.

Lucius Malfoy stood looking after her retreating form. Things were proceeding very smoothly indeed. The wheels were well and truly in motion. There was nothing he could do to stop them, even if he had wanted to.

In any case, he now knew full well that he had no desire to stop them.

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It took Hermione over half an hour to get the children home on the underground, and then a further hour to arrange for them to go and play at a friend's house for a while. It was always necessary for them to go over to someone else's house, as their friends were invariably muggles and could not be allowed to find out about their wizarding background. It was easier to maintain the charade if they did not visit the house. She dropped them off at her friend, Kate's, and promised to be back as soon as she could.

Hermione had returned home, taken out her wand, and then, with a sigh conveying her confusion and amazement at where she was apparating to, she disappeared.

She arrived dizzily in a private residents' garden in front of a row of grand white west London townhouses. Luckily, the garden was densely wooded, and she had appeared behind a bush, well out of sight of anyone. She looked up. She was standing almost directly in front of number twenty three. It was a tall, beautiful Georgian house, spread over four floors and a basement. She was not sure if it was enchanted or not, but no one batted an eyelid as she walked up the steps and after a moment's pause, rang the doorbell.

As she waited, she noticed her pulse quickening. She also wondered momentarily what she looked like. Apparition was never good for the hair.

She shook off the silly idea. What did it matter what she looked like? Still, her hands instinctively came up to smooth down her unruly locks.

She heard heavy footsteps approaching. The door opened. Lucius himself stood behind it, looking down on her with an expression approaching mild amusement. She was surprised; she had been expecting a house-elf.

His smile widened a little and he held the door open for her. "Do come in."

Hermione stepped over the threshold. Malfoy led her through a large hallway with a long, broad staircase, into a grand reception room, lavishly, but tastefully decorated. She glanced around, immediately noticing a landscape on one of the walls.

"Gosh, that's beautiful. In the style of Turner; it's just like him. Who's it by?"

"Turner."

She turned to him in amazement. His faint smirk was clearly discernible.

"May I get you a drink?"

Hermione wanted to say no, but she had not stopped since the confusion in Diagon Alley and realised that she was parched.

"Thank you. Just a glass of water."

"Are you sure? I have real lemonade."

It sounded perfect. Again, the man had judged her needs. "Alright. Thank you."

"Excuse me a moment. Please sit down." He left the room.

Hermione glanced around nervously, noticing many beautiful antiques and works of art. She waited. She did not sit.

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Lucius Malfoy went to his kitchen. He did not normally employ a house-elf when alone in London. It was unnecessary. He invariably dined out, and quite enjoyed the rare moments when he had to make a small snack for himself. He took out a glass and went to the fridge to get the lemonade.

He was being remarkably pleasant to the Granger girl. He knew what he wanted from her, what he needed in order to dismiss her from his mind once and for all. But he was in no hurry. He needed her to be ready. If it was only to be once, as he believed was all that was needed, then he would ensure it was perfect.

Was he being civil only in order to seduce her? He wasn't entirely sure he was. It struck him that his concern for her well-being was remarkably genuine.

Did he even have a plan of seduction as such? He nearly laughed aloud as he asked himself the question. It sounded ludicrous. It had been many years since he had practised the art of seduction, and he had never had to work very hard at it as it was. Women had always seemed more than willing to succumb to him, especially when they saw his house. And even recently, when he had expended no intentional energy on his attractiveness, he knew there would never have been much resistance. Indeed, he could think of several occasions when he was the one doing the resisting. He sneered as he recalled encounters with some quite desperate women over the years, many of them close friends of his wife.

No, the Granger girl would provide him with a completely different challenge. It filled him with a strange excitement to think of how she would resist him.

He could not recall the last time he had had a mudblood in his house. In fact, he did not believe he ever had. Why should he have? He stood for a moment, half-expecting a sense of horror to overcome him and to rush to her and kick her out into the street immediately. He did not.

He poured himself a glass of lemonade to accompany hers and took them both through.

Hermione was standing awkwardly when he came back into the room and took the glass he offered her.

"Thank you."

"Do sit down."

She finally did so.

They sat in silence for a moment. Hermione could not quite believe where she was and who she was with. Yet she did not feel threatened, or even particularly awkward. Her sense of decency returned and she spoke suddenly. "Thank you for what you did earlier, with Rose. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there."

"You would have found her. She had not gone far. At moments like that, time slows to an agonising crawl; every second is magnified. I recall a moment with Draco at a Quidditch match. He must have been no more than three. He wondered off while I was focusing on the match. I lost him for quite some time, it must have been nearly an hour. Eventually, I found him far beyond the ground, digging for worms in a meadow. The feeling of panic and anxiety while I was looking for him was one I will never forget, and rarely experienced again, even at some of my darkest moments." His eyes glazed over for a while as he recalled the memory.

Hermione looked at him keenly, touched by the nature of his account. For the second time that day she was reminded of his humanity. She wondered if it was a deliberate ploy by him to soften her perception of him. She drew herself up and drank some lemonade.

"I must go soon. I said I would not be long."

"Is ... your husband with the children?"

"No. They're at a friend's house." She took another sip. "Ron is not at home." She wasn't sure why she had told him that.

"I see."

"He will be back later tonight. But he's away a lot at the moment." Another sip. "Are you returning to your ... other home ... soon?"

"I go back to the Manor tomorrow. I come up to London every other week for a few days. Business. It focuses the mind to stay here. Narcissa rarely joins me. She never stays in this house."

Silence. Both were aware that they had told each other an awful lot about their domestic arrangements and the movements of their spouses.

"You must allow me to show you the library before you go. Of course, most of the collection is at the Manor, but I have a respectable selection here."

"Oh, don't worry."

"I'm sure you would find it interesting and ... stimulating."

She knew he had chosen his words carefully. There was little that was stimulating in her life at the moment. She was tempted.

"Just for a moment then."

He led her upstairs. She hesitated, unnerved by the fact that she was following Lucius Malfoy up the stairs of his private house, but found her feet bearing her upwards. He opened a door on the first landing into a room covered from floor to ceiling in bookshelves. The shelves were lined with endless volumes, mostly ancient leather bound ones. Hermione could not stop her mouth opening in wonder. Never had she seen anything like it in private hands.

"Of course, this is only the tip of the ice-berg. The most impressive volumes are in the Manor."

Hermione was walking around in shock. "This will do," she mumbled.

He smiled.

Hermione walked along the shelves, her fingers lightly running along the spines of the books in awe. Lucius watched as her mudblood hands scanned his priceless possessions. He should object, should he not? Instead, he found himself fascinated by the sight. He could recall no-one displaying such a genuine and intense interest in his library before. He did not think Narcissa had ever even been in the room. The sight of this immaculate girl so enthralled by something belonging to him enchanted him immeasurably.

Hermione suddenly stopped and gasped, pulling a book off the shelf. "_'Bede's Principles on Sorcery and Bewitchment_'. I can't believe you have this! It hasn't been seen for hundreds of years. No-one thought there were any copies left."

Lucius raised his eyebrows and shrugged slightly. "I have no awareness of that book or its significance."

She laughed at him in astonishment. He thought it a beautiful sight.

Hermione opened the book carefully and pored over the words. "How wonderful. God, I'd love to be able to read this. I've heard so much about it, I can't tell you. It is just ... incredible." Her eyes were alight.

"You may borrow it if you wish."

She spun to him, her face lighting up. Then she suddenly remembered who he was, and how she should not be contemplating seeing him again. Her features dropped. "Oh, that's OK. It's nice just to know there is a copy still out there somewhere." Reluctantly, she started to return the book to the shelf.

"I insist. You may bring it back when you so desire. There is no rush."

Hermione stood firm for a moment, then glancing at the book still in her hands once again, she knew she would give in. She held it tight and turned to him. "Thank you. I'll look after it, don't worry. I'll get it back to you as soon as I can."

He merely smiled.

Hermione glanced at her watch. "Oh god, look at the time. I really have to go. Do you have my shopping?" She had practically forgotten the reason she was there.

"Yes, of course. Come with me."

He led her downstairs again, into a large kitchen towards the rear of the house. It had a remarkably welcoming, homely feel to it. Hermione almost wished she could stay longer. On the floor were her bags of shopping.

"Thank you. I'll do it in two goes."

"Apparition can be disorientating. Three trips in quick succession may make you ill. I could take half for you, if you wish."

She froze. Would it be so bad to let him know where she lived? She looked up into his eyes. All the time she had been in his house, despite their relaxed and comfortable conversation, she had avoided too much eye-contact with him. Now she met his gaze again. Instantly her insides flipped as they had earlier. It was becoming harder to ignore the reason why.

He stared back at her. Her dark brown eyes held his steadily. He wanted to disappear into them. How could he let her go? He had behaved impeccably while she was in the house. He had wanted to. It had been ... delightful.

As their eyes burned into each other, Lucius Malfoy knew that he needed no plan. That what would happen between them would occur naturally, at the appointed time. As much as he longed for her, he would wait. She would come to him. He knew it. And when she did, it would be sublime.

And then his need would be sated. And he could move on. Forget about the mudblood for good.

Hermione suddenly lowered her gaze, inhaling sharply. "No. Thank you. It's OK. I'm used to apparition." She bent down to pick up the first lot of bags. "I'll be back in a moment."

She muttered a word while holding her wand between two spare fingers and disappeared.

Lucius was surprised by the sudden emptiness which gripped him.

He stood still in his kitchen and realised he was counting out loud.

"One ... two ... three ... four ... five ..."

The seconds ticked by. It seemed an age.

"One hundred and twenty two ... one hundred and twenty three ... one hundred and twenty f ..."

With an unsteady lurch Hermione suddenly reappeared before him. She laughed a little, and stumbled. Her hands instinctively came forward to steady herself. He reached out and caught her.

She stopped laughing, but did not remove her grip on his forearms. Neither did he. His arms were firm and well-muscled. She held them tight, enjoying their strong masculinity beneath her fingers. Again, their eyes met. Hermione's held an expression of surprise.

She felt herself slipping, her beliefs vanishing, her responsibilities fading.

_No. _

She looked away quickly.

Releasing the hold on his arms, she backed off.

Clearing her throat, she moved to pick up the rest of the bags. "Right. That's it then. Thank you again. I'll ... get your book back to you soon."

She glanced up at him and smiled, but avoided any deep eye-contact.

"Until next time, Miss Granger."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, remembering what had been spoken between them the last time he had said that. But she closed her mouth again with a smile and changed tack. "Until next time, Mr Malfoy."

With that, she disappeared from his kitchen with a pop.

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**God, that man can show me his library ANY DAY!!!**

**Hope you like ... let me know if you have a moment. x**


	3. Chapter 3

**Methinks Hermione is a tad confused. And Lucius ...?**

**As tends to be a habit of mine, I'm falling behind on review responses. So sorry. My life is busy at the moment. I will try to catch up as soon as possible.**

**This chapter is a bit of a drawing breath, taking stock chapter. Have no fear, things will be moving on again ...**

**Enjoy. x**

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Once again, as soon as she had left, Lucius suddenly felt strangely empty. The house was unused to having anyone else in it, at least anyone who was so alive.

He returned slowly to the reception room, and picked up the glass she had drunk from. He could see the imprint of her lips on the edge and ran the tip of his finger lightly over it. His groin ached yet again. He drew himself up, calming himself until the throb subsided.

He would wait.

Lucius crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a glass of whisky. He had been drinking far more than normal, but once again, his lips and tongue longed for her taste. He needed the smooth burn of the malt to take it away, at least temporarily. As he drank, his eyes raised to a portrait of his father above him. The stern impenetrable wizard drew himself up disdainfully.

Lucius sneered at the image and cynically raised his glass to it.

"I know what you're thinking," he drawled up to the portrait of his father. He had charmed it so that it could not talk, but had been unable to stop the painting from moving. "A mudblood ... yes ... _the_ mudblood ... Granger." A brief expression of objectionable bewilderment passed across his face. "Don't think it doesn't confuse me as much as it confuses you." He examined the liquid in his glass. His features changed into confident certainty.

"I want her." He spoke factually, assuredly. "She will come to me, and I will have her. Once will do. That will clear her from my mind." He looked around the room, then stared into the middle distance, seeing again in his mind that vision of her in the moonlight. "She is an object of beauty. This house is filled with beautiful things, is it not, father? She will add to our collection."

He stopped and looked into his glass, his features caught halfway between a smirk and a grimace, as if he had come across something distasteful.

"She intrigues me. I find her mesmerising. I have never known a woman like it ... pureblood or otherwise. Perhaps it is the paradox; how strange that all things I hold to be the ultimate truth; blood purity over any other, the pursuit of intellectual perfection, beauty; all encapsulated in her in some way." He sneered a derisive laugh into his glass, confused and amused equally by the contradictions his mind was throwing at him.

He continued his stream of consciousness, now only half-addressing it to his father. "She is a delicious mixture of confidence and vulnerability, especially at the moment. She is married to the wrong man, although I doubt she will ever admit it or leave him. Her life frustrates her. It is a far cry from the life she used to lead ... as indeed is my life now." He paused and drew in a breath.

"She has suffered greatly in the past, on occasion due partly to me, I acknowledge." He glanced up at his father. "Does that make me feel guilty?" He sniffed contemptuously. "Guilt – I am not sure I would recognise that emotion even if it were to manifest itself within me. But I concede that I wish she had not been brought to my house at that time. I admit to finding the association ... distasteful. Bella was so ... vulgar... in her approach. No subtlety."

Malfoy sneered dismissively and took a slug of his drink.

"But the contrast in the girl's life now is stark. It will be intriguing to see how she deals with it ... how she deals with me. But I will wait. She has great integrity, a rare trait in people I know. I find it satisfying."

His father raised a cynical eyebrow.

Lucius smirked again. "I will not pursue her relentlessly, it may scare her off. I can tell her desire has been awakened. The mutuality of it heightens the emotion. It is igniting quickly in her. I sense it has lain dormant for some time. I doubt it has ever been sated as much as is possible within her."

He fell silent, staring out into the room. His eyes closed, and her image immediately appeared behind his lids. It was the sight of her in the library, a joyous smile on her face as she had discovered the book. He had lied to her. He knew full well of his possession of the book, and its rarity. He had read it many times. He smiled a little at the memory and continued to picture her, wondering what she was doing at that moment.

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Hermione had returned home with the bags. The three quick apparitions, and the sudden removal from Malfoy's home had disturbed her. She realised more time had passed than she had wanted, but she could not go and fetch the children immediately. She stood in the kitchen, stock still, staring straight ahead of her. Then suddenly her mind blurred and she felt her legs give way under her. She managed to move to a chair and slump into it before she collapsed. Her head fell into her hands and she slowed her breathing as much as possible, concentrating on it to stem the tide of dizziness and nausea.

She began to tell a tale in her mind of a chance encounter with a man who had shown necessary consideration, how she had visited his house briefly and had parted amicably, unlikely to see him again for some time. What was wrong with that?

Her hands gripped her hair. She was pulling the strands so tight that several came out of her scalp. She did not notice.

She was lying to herself.

Her eyes filled with tears. Hot angry tears of self-deception and frustration. _How dare he?_ How dare he make her feel like this?

How dare he make her want him so?

She admitted it frankly and fully to herself now. The moments between them, the moments of eye-contact, the moments when he had touched her, were seared in her mind, in her soul. They brought her the deepest misery and regret, but at the same time, more nourishment, more exhilaration, than she could remember for an age. She struggled to reconcile her emotions, and simply sat, vaguely aware that time was ticking away.

Hermione rubbed her hands along her arms, remembering how he had gripped her, how she had felt his muscles under her fingers, so strong, so firm. She wondered what his arms looked like under his shirt sleeves. She imagined his naked torso under her fingertips as they ran over his skin, the taut sinews, the fine hairs, up, up to his shoulders.

The phone rang. She gasped in shock, looking around bewildered.

"Shit," she mumbled, standing to answer it.

It was her friend with the children.

"Hi. Oh god, I'm sorry Kate. I'm just on my way. I only just got back. I got a bit waylaid and then the traffic was really bad. I'm so sorry. I'll be right over."

She pushed her other thoughts to the back of her mind and grabbed her keys, rushing out of the house.

When she reached her friend's house, she found Hugo had wrecked Kate's son's train track, resulting in the child having a screaming fit. Rose had demanded an infinite variety of different drinks, as none she was offered seemed to suit her, and Kate herself looked distinctly at her wits' end.

"God, sorry, Kate. It's just ... I just ..."

Kate stood with her arms crossed, but smiled with resignation. "It's OK. It's just been the last half hour. They got a bit tetchy. I hadn't thought you'd be so long."

Guilt flooded Hermione. "I know. I didn't mean to be ... sorry." She didn't know what to say.

"She went to the white-haired man's house." Rose suddenly spoke next to her.

Hermione laughed in with embarrassment, trying to make light of it.

"The white-haired man?" Kate inquired, her eyebrows raised.

"He found me in the magic street," Rose continued unashamedly.

Kate looked intrigued. Hermione spoke swiftly. "Yeah. It's been an odd day. We were out and Rose decided to wander off. But this frie ... this ... acquaintance luckily found her quickly."

"The white-haired man? Is he really old or something?"

Hermione laughed further, partly through amusement, partly through desperation. "No ... no ... he's ... not old ... and it's not white exactly, it's sort of ... blondey ... I had to go and pick up my shopping which he'd taken home as I couldn't carry it all." She was sounding increasingly fraught, but still included a defence of Malfoy's physical description. Kate was interested. Hermione tried to usher her children out.

"Really? And he found Rose? Where was this exactly - the magic street?"

"Nowhere in particular. She says that because there's a joke shop nearby."

"No mummy, that's where we go to buy your potio ..."

"Come on then, you two. Poor old Kate, she really needs us to leave her in peace. Thank you so much!" Hermione nearly sounded manic in her attempt to stop her daughter from disclosing all her secrets.

Kate's interest was piqued, but she could tell she would get little more from Hermione. As she walked her to the door, she leaned into her friend. "Bye for now, Mione. You must tell me more about your mysterious blond 'acquaintance' at some point." She smirked over at her. Hermione lowered her head and led her children out.

She got the children supper in an automated daze. Ron would probably not be home until after their bedtime. They were in a good mood, certainly none the worse for the strange occurrences of the day. Hermione let them have a long, happy splash in the bath and read them a story. Luckily, by that time they were exhausted, and fell into a deep slumber practically before she could kiss them goodnight.

She went downstairs and poured herself a large glass of wine. Panic gripped her for a minute. What if Rose disclosed the events of the day to Ron as freely as she had to Kate?

It was bad enough that Kate knew, although Hermione trusted her friend. She knew that she would be discreet and non-judgmental.

Discreet and non-judgmental?

She stopped herself. Why was she feeling guilty?

She had done nothing wrong. If she had met someone like Gawain Robards, the head of the Auror office, in similar circumstances and he had helped her out, she wouldn't be giving it a second thought. Nothing untoward had occurred that she should not be able to impart freely to anyone.

She hung her head.

_Bollocks._

It wasn't Gawain Robards. It was Lucius Malfoy.

And she wanted him. She could only admit it to herself.

She sighed and crossed to the sink, turning on the tap to do the washing up. She could have charmed it to do automatically, but she hoped the mundane task would clear her mind, remind her of the true nature of her life. The water slowly filled the bowl. She stared as the bubbles rose, her arms leaning against the sink.

As she stood, she imagined a tall firm body behind her, strong arms encircling her, pulling her tight into him, his aroma surrounding her, intoxicating her. Her head fell back and she could almost feel his head descending to her throat, his lips moving silkily along her flesh.

There was a loud splash and her feet were suddenly drenched in hot water. The sink had overflowed.

"Shit," she groaned, amidst the pain registering from the searing hot water soaking her feet. "Shit, shit, shit."

She grabbed for the taps and turned off the water. Then, still in a daze, she got out a bucket and sponge, lowered herself to her hands and knees, and started to mop up the flood.

She scrubbed the floor hard, as if it would eradicate the mental image still engrained on her mind.

"What ya doing, babe?"

She gasped in shock and darted her head up to find Ron standing in the kitchen, looking at her, mystified.

"I ... the ... sink overflowed. I'm cleaning it up."

"Why don't you use magic?"

She did not know.

"I ... forgot."

"Come on, babe. Up you get." He came over and held his hand out, pulling her up. Then he waved his wand and the water dried up immediately.

Ron turned to his wife. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's just ... been a long day." She could hardly look him in the eyes. "The kids were playing up a bit, you know. I might actually go to bed. I'm completely shattered."

Ron looked disappointed, but nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, yeah, OK. If you think you need to, that's fine. Good night, sweetheart." He leant in to kiss her. She did not pull back, but for some reason his kiss made her tense. He did not notice.

Hermione smiled wearily at him and made her way up the stairs, taking her handbag with her.

She lay in bed and reached into the bag, taking out the book she had found in Malfoy's library.

She ran her hands over the leather bound cover. It was an ancient book, but in good condition. She brought it to her nose and inhaled. It smelt of old leather, parchment and ... aromatic musk. Hermione closed her eyes and remembered.

Then slowly she opened the book. There inside was an inscription, in a beautiful cursive hand.

"LM first read this book in 1975."

She smiled to herself. So he did know it. He must have been in his early twenties then, surely already under the influence of Voldemort. It seemed odd to her that someone on the path to evil would also be doing normal everyday things, such as reading and writing.

She flicked through the pages carefully. On several of them, in the margin, written in the same fluid script, were annotations and comments. They struck Hermione as being remarkably perceptive and astute. She was impressed.

Hermione settled down in bed and started to read the book properly. It was fascinating, and made even more so by Malfoy's additions. Hermione found herself concurring with what he had written, almost as if she herself had thought of it. It disturbed her a little.

As she heard the sounds of Ron shutting up the house for the night, she quickly tucked the book back in her bag, turned the light out and snuggled under the covers.

Ron went to the bathroom, then crept into bed beside her. She pretended to be asleep. She could tell he was leaning over her, checking to see if she was awake. On any other night, they may well have had sex at this point, but she was certainly in no mood to humour him tonight.

He seemed resigned that he would not be getting any, and turned over, soon snoring merrily in a deep sleep.

Hermione lay awake for a long time, thinking back over the events of the day and her reaction to them. When finally she felt sleep claiming her, she rolled onto her side, her head turned away from her husband.

As her lids started to droop, her heavy eyes fell on the corner of Lucius Malfoy's leather bound book protruding from the bag beside her bed.

* * *

**Oh no, it is very hard to get that man out of your head once he's in there!**

**Let me know your thoughts, should you wish ... x**

**More very soon, I promise. I know that one was a bit short!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Oh ... things are getting interesting, believe me ...**

**As usual, thanks for reviews. I will get back to you as soon as soon as ... I think there was a bit of a glitch when I posted the last chapter. Hopefully that will not occur again.**

**Now, there is a very significant music moment in this chapter. (You know I love my music moments!!) I urge (I love that word!) you to somehow listen to this piece of music. Even if you do not think you like classical music, believe me, after listening to this and thinking of the context of the story - YOU WILL LOVE IT! The piece of music has been used to convey sexual tension in many films, and that is how I use it here. It was used most notably in Stanley Kubrick's_ Barry Lyndon_. You must listen to it!!! It is Schubert's Piano Trio (No 2) in E Flat. You can easily find various versions of it (including the scene in _Barry Lyndon_) on youtube, although I would recommend downloading it from itunes or wherever (just the first movement - the allegro). This chapter will make more sense and will work better if you read it while listening to it!!!! Pleeeeeeeaaaaase dooooooo!!!!**

**Enjoy!!! xxxx**

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Hermione kept Malfoy's book tucked safely in her bag wherever she went. She told herself that it was because she did not want Ron or anyone else to find it.

But she took it out and read extracts at frequent opportunities: while having tea with her children, in a play centre while they were in the ball pool, while they got covered in mud in the park. At those moments, with the book in her hand, her life seemed to open up, air filled her lungs, and when her children came bounding up to her later, she would greet them with increased delight and good humour, feeling surprisingly reinvigorated.

But it was not just her mind that was more alive due to the book. As she sat reading it, she would often run her fingertips over the pages, especially in the places where Lucius had made annotations, imagining his own fingers in the same places. At those times, such as the Wednesday morning three weeks after the shopping incident, her eyes would close and she saw him beside her once again. In her mind, he would hold her arms, drawing his hands along them, up to her chin, which he would tilt, and with his grey eyes not breaking away from hers, lower his head, down, down, his lips so close to hers.

"Mummy! Hugo did a wee on the floor!"

Hermione was pulled rudely out of her reverie. She sighed and rose to go and deal with the puddle in the middle of the kitchen.

Despite the intensity of her encounters with Malfoy, and the knowledge that at some point she would have to return the book, Hermione entertained no notion that she would actually live out her fantasies.

Yes, she found him attractive, as you do some men. Very attractive.

But it was no different to fancying a movie star, or a Quidditch player, or having a silly crush on a work colleague. These things cropped up in everyone's lives. They were fantasies. Fantasies were so termed because they remained fantastical – in the head. You did not act them out.

She was married. She loved her husband. Yes, her life was difficult at times, yes, she needed more, but there were other ways of addressing her problems, surely. This man was not the solution.

He was Lucius Malfoy, for god's sake. She hated him. She hated everything he stood for.

So why the hell could she not stop thinking about him, every minute of every day? Why the hell, when she did think about him, did the tedium of her life disappear, and the chores she had to fulfil seem to go by with much more ease. Why did she feel that she was more relaxed, more able to deal with her children – a better mother?

Why the hell did the thought of this man – this bigoted, arrogant, disdainful, self-satisfied, supercilious, heartless, evil man - make her so bloody _happy_?

She closed her eyes, half-expecting a flood of tears to consume her, but only saw in her mind's eye Malfoy standing before her, that haughty smirk on his face, his crystal eyes looking down into hers with ... indolent disdain, surely. But no, it was not disdain. It was tolerance, curiosity ... desire.

And there was the difference. Most fantasies were one-sided, impossible to achieve, or both.

Not this one.

She knew he wanted her too. The times he had touched her, the times he had searched her eyes, she had felt it.

The idea that her lust for him was reciprocated filled her with such excitement, her skin was constantly alight, her belly tingling with expectation. When the children had their afternoon nap, she would find herself increasingly often locked in her room, her fingers questing between her thighs in a desperate attempt to relieve the burn within.

In the time since having the children, Hermione had forgotten that she could be attractive. Yes, she had noticed men looking at her over the years. Her friends complimented her on her appearance, but she often either did not believe them or simply did not think about it long enough to give it any credence. Ron seemed happy enough, and that was all she had needed. She rarely paid attention to her clothes, hair or make-up these days. The night of the reception had been a rare time when she had bothered.

She had forgotten what it was like to be wanted.

And now Lucius Malfoy wanted her. She knew it.

It felt so good.

And not only was her fantasy mutual. It was possible. This man was real, close by.

Her stomach churned, not this time with lust, but with dread.

Could she resist?

Of course she could.

_Pull yourself together, Granger. _

_Weasley!_

She held her head in her hands, shaking it at the trick her mind had played on her.

He had not seemed to be pursuing her as such, but he had been so _nice_. It was hardly what she had expected from Lucius Malfoy. She was a mudblood. Even if he felt physical desire for her, which could possibly override his prejudices, surely he did not need to be so pleasant to her?

She knew he had to be on his best behaviour to stay out of Azkaban, but his approach to her with regard to Rose, the shopping, the book, even his first conversation on the terrace, had seemed genuine and ... kind.

She reminded herself that she hated him.

_Hate._

What exactly did that mean?

Hermione thought back over her time in his house. Drinking lemonade in a sitting room, smiling in a library, laughing in a kitchen. Was that the behaviour of two people who hated each other?

Hermione was reminded of the dangers of making generalisations. She had assumed a lot about this man without knowing him. Now that she did know him a little, he was human, sensitive ... fascinating.

Perhaps he was not the only one who was prejudiced.

She hung her head, her mind too full to deal with the twisting emotions battling for supremacy within.

Hermione retreated into the one thought she believed herself to be certain of.

She loved Ron. She would not cheat on him.

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Lucius Malfoy sat in his study at the manor, mulling things over.

He did not need a plan of seduction as such. The Granger girl wanted him too, of that he was certain. But he did need to remain visible to her, to remind her of his presence. He wanted to. He needed to see her.

He missed her.

He took another sip from the glass in his hand. For the time being, whisky was his only means of subduing his thirst for her. He found he had a glass in his hand almost constantly when at home. He no longer consumed it as considerably as he had in those first few days, but it was still necessary to blot out the taste for her, the need for her. That, he would assuage at the proper time.

He could take her, he supposed. Ensure a time when they would meet and then force himself on her - although he doubted much force would be necessary. But no.

For someone so immaculate, so delicious, he would make the wait worthwhile. For her to want to surrender to him completely, for her to decide to come to him, to give herself to him because she knew it to be the only way – that would be the ultimate achievement.

_Patience, Malfoy_. It was a virtue he had got down to a fine art over the years.

Virtue!? He sneered a laugh out at the thought. Did he possess any virtues?

The mudblood did. Many.

That was why her abandonment to him would be so sublime.

His groin throbbed again. He needed to see her soon. How best to achieve it?

He could do without the offspring being there, although last time they had rather aided him.

But not this time.

And the husband?

It did not matter if he was present or not. In fact, it may help if he was.

Malfoy thought of an event where he could show Weasley up, appeal to a side of the girl which addressed not only her need for stimulation in her life, but highlight the inadequacies of her husband.

He smiled to himself with satisfaction. He knew just the thing.

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Ron returned home to find Hermione busy cooking. The children were at the kitchen table, painting, and his heart swelled at the peaceful domestic scene.

"Hey, happy family!"

"Daddy!"

The children leapt from the table and ran to embrace him. He held them tight before tickling them into hysterics.

Hermione was pleased to see him, but slightly put out that he had disturbed the tranquillity she had worked so hard to achieve.

He kissed her. "Hi, hun. Good day?"

"Not bad." She returned the kiss briefly before turning back to the stove. "You?"

"Yeah. Oh, before I forget, as I know you like a bit of notice for these things; there's a do coming up in a couple of weeks we have to go to."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Sounds bloody dull. It's some classical concert to raise money for the World Cup. They're trying to make it a big conversion of cultures thing. You know, how sport doesn't have to be cut off from art and music and stuff." He waved his hands vaguely in an attempt to express himself.

"Really?" Hermione was interested. "It sounds nice. I'd like to go."

"Well, you'll be about the only one who does want to!" he laughed. "Apart from the sponsors, I think most people who have been forced to go, like the coaches and players, will be in comas by the end. I know I will."

"You should be more open-minded," she smiled, stirring the casserole. "I think it's a good idea. Who arranged it?"

"Oh, guess who? Mr Culture God himself – Lucius bloody Malfoy!"

Hermione froze.

"I see."

"He's such a bloody snake – ingratiating himself with all the right people, making them conveniently forget he used to be a fucking Death Eater!"

"Ron!" Hermione glared at him over his use of language. Luckily, the kids were chatting happily and hadn't noticed. "That was a long time ago now. Harry himself let him off. I guess we can all change."

"Yeah, right! You must be kidding. It's just a front. He's an expert at wearing a mask. He's probably got a bloody shrine to Voldemort in the basement of his house. The basement where I was imprisoned and beaten up, may I remind you? You hate his guts more than me! Since when did you become so tolerant?"

She turned to him, trying to cover her tracks. "I know. You're right. I was just trying to find an explanation for why people are so accepting of him now. I am sure Lucius Malfoy is still a cruel, evil bastard." She put her hands around him and smiled, desperate to convince herself of her words.

Ron smiled back. "Absofrigginlutely."

He reached in for a kiss, but Hermione pulled back. "Come on. Food's ready."

For the rest of the evening, Hermione was in a ridiculously good mood. Ron believed it to be because of her delight at his return home.

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Lucius Malfoy had gone to great care to plan the fund-raising concert. The World Cup committee were delighted with him.

He had spent hours planning the programme, selecting the artists and thinking how best to decorate the venue.

"You've surpassed yourself, Malfoy! The place looks splendid and the musicians are the finest I have heard for some time," the Chairman had beamed during rehearsals on the morning of the concert. "We have many sponsors coming tonight, willing to dig deep into their pockets for us. Excellent work. I'm not sure how the players will react, but that is of no concern to me. Goodness knows I have sat through some damn excruciating Quidditch matches. They can suffer for a change. Bravo, man. Well done!" He patted him on the back with convivial bonhomie.

"Thank you, Chairman. One does try to please," Malfoy had drawled.

The only person he was trying to please was Hermione Granger. All his efforts had gone into creating an atmosphere which would further draw her into him.

He hoped she would appreciate the music. But it was one piece in particular that he knew would serve the purpose. To him it was the embodiment of sexual tension, of unrequited desire.

It was perfect.

Malfoy walked around the hall. The seating plan was in place. He adjusted the seat he would sit in and raised his eyes. The concert was to take place partially in the round, with seating spread out around the performers. His eyes fell on her seat. It was directly across from his, slightly in front of the instrumentalists.

He smiled, tapped the back of the chair, and walked off, satisfied.

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A sense of anticipation had been growing in Hermione since Ron had told her about the concert. She had asked Molly to look after the children so she could go shopping for something to wear. It was only as she bid her mother-in-law farewell, that a slight sense of guilt crept over her. She knew full well that there was only really one reason why she was concerned about her clothes for the evening. As Molly had waved goodbye merrily, she could hardly look her in the eye.

She had gone to an exclusive boutique off Kensington High Street. It was a shop that she had frequented before the children came along, when she was still working at the Ministry, but had not been back to since.

She chose a simple but elegant short black dress, with a plunging neck line. It had clung to her hips more than she anticipated. As she came out to look in the mirror, the assistant had proclaimed, "That is so good. You look incredibly sexy."

Hermione had felt queasy and hesitated. Then glancing again in the mirror and turning to look at her back, she had suddenly felt empowered as never before. She smiled. "Yes. That's it. I'll take it. Thank you."

She had then gone on to buy a pair of black shoes with endless heels, far higher than any she usually wore. This time, she did not question buying them.

By the time the evening of the concert came about, she was feeling remarkably confident and exuded a sexuality that could not be denied. Ron had come into the bedroom to tell her the babysitter had arrived and had nearly fallen over with amazement.

"Bloody hell, woman! What're you trying to do to me?!"

"Do you like it? I bought it earlier this week. I thought I'd make an effort for a change."

"Yeah. Shit, Mione. You're not bloody joking. You look stunning. Come 'ere."

He had crossed to her, before she had the chance to consider his words, and had enveloped her in his arms, his hands immediately reaching down to her bum and squeezing hard. She flinched somewhat at the sight in the mirror, and brought her hands behind her back, removing his from her backside.

"Come on. We'd better go."

"OK. Maybe ... we ... err ... won't have to stay too late tonight. Y'know. Come back reasonably early."

She smiled at him but pulled away, changing the subject. "I'll go and see if the babysitter is OK."

----------------------------------------------------------------

They arrived at the concert. Ron looked bored before they even walked in.

She saw Malfoy immediately. He had looked at her as soon as she had entered the room, a large but intimate chamber in an elegant Georgian building.

Hermione immediately felt a jolt in her belly. She had not felt that since she had been a teenager. She remembered feeling it when Viktor Krum had first noticed her, when Sirius had been around. She could not recall ever feeling it with Ron.

She flushed and lowered her eyes.

"Oh bloody hell. This is gonna be bloody tedious," groaned Ron. "God, there's Malfoy. Bugger, he's coming over."

Hermione could hardly breathe.

Malfoy had strided up and was standing just before them. She raised her head momentarily to smile politely, before lowering it rapidly again.

"Weasley," he drawled, extending a hand which Ron reluctantly shook. Lucius turned towards Hermione. "And ..." he could not bring himself to say her married name out loud. "How lovely to see you." He extended his hand to her.

She looked down at it. It seemed an age before she reached out and took it. It was large, warm and firm, and felt remarkably secure. He tightened his fingers around her hand. She immediately recalled the moment when he had inadvertently held her hand in Diagon Alley. Hermione raised her eyes and met his. He was smiling mildly down at her, and his eyes were alight.

Malfoy did not let go of her hand. She knew he was holding it for longer than necessary, but did not pull back. Her middle finger was placed in such a position as to be touching the inside of his wrist.

She moved it, brushing it ever so slightly along the tender skin. She did not know why.

A momentary look of astonishment passed across his eyes before they darted down to where their hands were joined.

She tried to pull her hand back. At first he did not release it, but then, almost surprised by her actions, he relaxed his grip and she brought her hand away, unable to look at him again.

She hardly dared to admit to herself what she had done. It had been an involuntary movement. It meant nothing.

There was a moment's silence.

"You look exquisite."

Hermione inhaled sharply. The words had not come from her husband, but from the blond wizard standing before her.

"Yeah, yeah, she does. Right, do we sit anywhere or what, Malfoy?"

Her husband's hand had come to clasp possessively around her waist and she detected the anger brewing in his voice. She dared not look up again, but mumbled, "Thank you," under her breath.

Suddenly, Malfoy raised himself and seemed to refocus.

"No. You have allocated seats. Follow me."

Keeping a firm hand on his wife, Ron followed Malfoy to their seats.

"Here we are. The best seats in the house."

Ron sniffed. He would have preferred to have been hidden away somewhere out of view.

He slumped down quickly, frowning at the programme. Malfoy moved behind Hermione's chair and held it for her. She sat down. As she did so, his fingers brushed the naked flesh of her shoulders slightly. She tensed, and her skin shuddered with sensation.

"I do hope you will enjoy the evening." His voice came from behind her. She did not turn around.

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy. I'm sure we shall."

He moved from behind her and walked away. She breathed in deep. Ron turned to her.

"Bastard. What was all that 'you look exquisite' crap? Didn't say that when you were lying on the floor of his house screaming for his sister-in-law to stop torturing you, did he? He can keep his fucking eyes to himself."

"Shh," Hermione hissed. "He was only being polite."

"I don't want Lucius Malfoy to be polite to you. I don't want Lucius bloody Malfoy to be anything to you, or me."

Hermione started clapping along with others. The musicians had just walked in. "Never mind. Forget about it. It's starting now."

"Whoopee doo," Ron groaned sarcastically.

Just before it started, Malfoy slipped in and took his seat. Hermione tried hard not to glance directly at him. He was sitting in full view of her, virtually directly opposite.

She inhaled deeply. It would be a long night.

The programme was of chamber music. Various trios and quartets came and went. Hermione found it best to close her eyes for most of it. The music was sublime. She had adored classical music when growing up, especially during the holidays. Her parents had encouraged an appreciation of it. Her passion had faded somewhat at Hogwarts and since, simply because she had not had the time to devote to it, but her love for it remained.

She succeeded in avoiding eye-contact with Malfoy for most of the evening. When she had glanced at him, she had noted with relief that he seemed to be focused on the music, and was not looking at her. Still, she felt an undeniable connection with the man sitting across from her. The music itself seemed to be linking them.

It was only just before the start of the last piece that her resolve started to crumble. She knew this piece well, knew the perfect tension evoked by the first movement. It dripped with sexual longing. As soon as she had seen it on the programme she wondered how she would be able to sit through it with him there.

It was Schubert's Piano Trio in E Flat.

The three musicians took to the stage amidst applause. They sat, adjusted their positions and began.

Immediately, Hermione found it hard to breathe. It was as if everything else in the room had faded away, including her husband, and the only things to remain were her, Malfoy and the music. Her body felt dense, heavy, and the blood pulsed frantically around it.

The piano placed its agonising chords into the air, waiting for the cello to groan out the deep sensual melody of desire. She could not stop herself. It was the perfect music for the moment. She glanced up. This time he was staring directly at her. His face was set straight, serious. They both knew the significance.

She did not lower her gaze. For several minutes of the movement, where the tune was heaved into the air by the cello, underpinned with tense fragility by the piano, until the two instruments swapped and the piano picked up the melody in ever more frustrated longing, she held his eyes, almost weeping with the knowledge of what it conveyed.

At last the music shifted and the tension released somewhat. Hermione thought she may pass out. Her whole being throbbed with emotion. It was a blend of frustration, desire and seething anger.

How she wanted him. How she hated him for further inciting her feelings.

Did he know what he was doing? Of course he did.

Any cultured person knew the significance of that music, knew the emotion that was contained in it. It had been used to convey sexual tension in numerous films and presentations. The melody was picked up again towards the end of the movement. She raised her eyes upwards, determined not to look at him.

But she could not stop herself. Biting her lip, she found her gaze lowering until it fell once again straight into his eyes.

This time the tears did come. She could sense Ron next to her, and unconsciously twirled the wedding ring on her finger. Still, Malfoy held her gaze. Still, she did not lower hers.

Her belly clenched, tightened, her breathing became short and laboured, her skin alight. His eyes seemed almost to be apart from him, opening up a path between them, straight into their souls.

At that point, the movement came to an end. The audience shifted, as did the musicians. A few people coughed. Ron started to applaud. Hermione was jolted to her senses and elbowed him abruptly.

"Shut up!" she hissed. You never applauded between movements.

The embarrassment brought by her husband was enough to bring her crashing back to reality. The second movement was altogether brighter than the first, and Hermione took the opportunity to recover, never again glancing at the blond man opposite her.

She did not admit it to herself, but she had come tantalisingly close to pure sexual ecstasy from just looking at him.

At last the concert finished. By the end of it, Ron was almost asleep.

He looked around blearily as the audience started to get up. "Hmm? Is that it? Thank god for that. Bloody hell. Don't make me sit through that again."

Hermione could not bring herself to say anything to him.

He stood up and stretched. "I'm just off to the loo before we go." He disappeared. She opened her mouth to call after him, not wanting to be left alone, but he had already gone.

Immediately, Malfoy came up to her.

"Miss Granger."

"Hello." She hardly looked up.

"You appeared to be absorbing the music."

"Absorbing it," she said tersely. "An interesting choice of word."

He merely smiled.

"Who chose the programme?"

"I did." Silence. "Did you approve?"

She did not know what to say. "The music was sublime."

"I'm glad you liked my choices. The Schubert in particular ..."

"Yes." She cut him off.

There was further silence. Why didn't she just excuse herself and go?

"Are you enjoying the book?"

She darted her eyes to his. She could have brought it back tonight. In the excitement of getting ready, she had forgotten.

"Oh! Yes, yes. It's wonderful. I ... meant to bring it tonight. I'm sorry. I forgot."

Her sudden shift from awkward indignation to apologetic embarrassment was charming.

"Do not apologise. It does not matter at all. You may keep it as long as you wish." He was smiling with amusement at her.

Hermione stood before him. She inhaled deeply. She breathed him in. Her eyes shut in an attempt to steady herself, steady her mind, her soul.

Malfoy stood before her. Despite all the people around, he could just lean down now, capture her swollen red lips in his, part them tenderly and slip inside. Taste her. _Taste her._ At last.

He forgot his surroundings. She stood there, her eyes shut, swaying slightly, delirious with ... desire? Confusion? ... He suspected correctly. It did not matter. _She was here._

He bent his head ever so slightly, focused entirely on her mouth, so warm, so ripe, ready ...

"Hermione! Come on, we're going. You still here, Malfoy? Isn't wifey waiting for you at home with slippers and cocoa? Better go, I reckon."

Ron spoke in a way which could be interpreted as light-hearted ribbing, but which they both knew to be a stinging insult.

Malfoy raised himself up, his features returning to the old familiar sneer. Hermione flinched, opening her eyes at last. She glanced up at Lucius almost apologetically.

Ron turned to leave. His wife had not moved. "Come on, babe. Babysitter's waiting."

Hermione was still staring at Lucius Malfoy. She extended her hand firmly out to him suddenly. "Thank you for organising an outstanding concert, Mr Malfoy. I'm sure a great many people, including me, appreciate your wonderful and thoughtful efforts. I have had ... a very satisfying evening. I will remember it for a long time to come. It will ... sustain me."

He took her hand and held it firm. "Thank you. I can only agree." Their hands were still clasped. Then, in a perfect reversal of what had happened earlier, he rubbed his finger along the inner part of her wrist. Her belly somersaulted instantly and she inhaled. He sensed it and rubbed again. She began to feel as she had done during the concert. She needed to leave immediately.

She looked up at him in shock and pulled her hand away.

"Goodbye," she mumbled and hurried away, past her waiting husband, who was struggling to put on his coat.

"Oy! Mione! Wait up." Ron rushed after her.

Lucius Malfoy stood staring at the spot she had disappeared from for some time afterwards. Then, slowly, he allowed his mouth to curl up in a smile. The evening had gone even better than he had hoped.

-----------------------------------------------------

Hermione and Ron disapparated swiftly. After the babysitter had left, Hermione hurried up to the bedroom and started to remove her dress.

Ron came into the bedroom after her.

"Hey, wait a minute! I want to have a look at you. That dress – you look beautiful, Mione. I haven't seen you like this for ... well, I can't bloody remember! I mean it even worked for bloody Malfoy."

Hermione lowered her head.

Ron came over and ran his hands along her body. She closed her eyes, unsure how she felt. Her body was still alight from her experiences during the concert. She wanted to address her needs. But for once, her husband's presence was not enough.

But she had feared how he would react to Malfoy's attention to her. Ron seemed to have put it down to the man's arrogant need to dominate a situation, but Hermione supposed her husband's clear request for sex was an opportunity to dispel any suspicions which had entered his mind.

She turned to him and placed her hands around his neck, allowing him to reach in to kiss her.

Hermione closed her eyes tight as he removed her clothes and led her over to the bed. They remained tightly closed for the next ten minutes as her husband swiftly relieved his own needs. He was too rushed to focus on her pleasure, and she found herself having to reach between her own legs to achieve her climax while he thrust predictably into her.

She ran her hands over her husband's back, listening to his grunts of effort. Still, her mind did not allow her body to release its pleasure.

She suddenly remembered Lucius Malfoy's hand clasping hers, his cool eyes searching hers, his finger brushing her wrist, the music ...

She came deliciously with a sigh of bliss. With the sound of his wife's pleasure, which he thought had come from his own skilled movements, Ron came heavily into her.

Luckily, he rolled off her and with a quick peck on her cheek of thanks, fell asleep.

Hermione lay still for some time later, then rose and washed. She looked up into the mirror.

It had been an extraordinary evening. It wasn't just seeing Malfoy. It was the venue, the music, all of it. It reminded her of who she used to be, who she could be again, she was sure. If she could have a few more moments like that in her life, she could cope so much better, she knew it. She had meant what she had said to Malfoy at the end very genuinely. The evening would sustain her.

She turned over and tried to sleep. Eventually, she did.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

When Lucius Malfoy arrived at his London home for the night, instead of opening the door with a spell, he took out the key and turned it in the lock, enjoying the satisfying clunk of the bolt being turned back.

He entered the house and turned into the same room he had shown the Granger girl into that time.

He believed his aim to be close to fruition.

It would not be long.

He smiled with self-satisfaction. Her parting words of congratulation came to him. They could have further boosted his already swollen ego, but instead of more smug conceit, he instead felt a swell of pride spread through him, tempered with an emotion he did not at first recognise. It was humility.

Her words had been sincere and genuine. They touched him.

He stood for a moment silently in the room, hearing once again the piano and cello pulsing through him. Then drawing himself up, he turned to go to bed.

Stopping, he moved to the drinks table and poured a glass of whisky, downing it swiftly before leaving the room.

* * *

**Don't worry, Lucius, not long to wait now ...**

**Hope you like - let me know. xxx**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks as ever for all the lovely comments and reviews. I have responded to chapter four reviews, but never got round to chapter three, for which I apologise. May I say a big thank you to anyone who reviewed chapter three and didn't get a response. Life has been hectic, to say the least.**

**So ... ever onwards ... a certain Kylie Minogue song springs to mind ... _"I just can't get you out ..."_ You know the rest.**

* * *

Hermione awoke in an exceptionally good mood.

The children had not yet come in, and she lay for a while before throwing back the covers and getting into the shower. As the hot water played over her, she felt invigorated like never before. She could see it was raining outside, normally a fact that filled her with dismal dread as to how she would entertain the children. But on this day, she could not care less.

She shook the water from her hair and wrapped a towel around her, stepping back into the bedroom, and calling across to her husband, who was still in bed. "I'll take Rose to the Playzone today if you like. Do you mind staying at home with Hugo? He's a bit too young to enjoy it for long. Rose'll have a good time. I may ask Kate if she wants to bring her kids."

Ron stretched. He was happy to entertain his son at home. The boy was normally content with his mini magic Quidditch set, which sent tiny players zooming through the air of the living room.

"Yeah, no problem. You go ahead."

"Thanks."

She dressed and went downstairs to phone Kate, who agreed to come.

An hour later, Hermione found herself at the Playzone, a huge indoor play centre, with her daughter. It was the sort of place which simply had to be tolerated, but for some reason on this occasion, she was enjoying herself nearly as much as Rose. She scampered and slid over the cushioned slides and climbing frames faster than any of the other children, laughing gleefully as she went. Rose was having a brilliant time with her newly exuberant mother.

As Hermione plunged down the Death Drop, she skidded to a halt at Kate's feet.

"Hermione! Have you been taking happy pills?! Come and sit down for a minute. Here, I've got you a coffee."

Hermione giggled. "Thanks, Kate. Rose, you go and play with Milly for a bit, OK?"

Rose ran off with Kate's seven year old daughter. Hermione went to sit and watch her with her friend.

"So how come you're in such a good mood today?" Kate asked, placing the coffee in front of her.

"Oh, I don't know. I went to a concert last night. It was brilliant. It was just so ... nourishing."

"Good. What sort of music?"

"Classical. Chamber music ... some Schubert."

"I didn't know you liked classical music."

"I'd forgotten I did too."

They were silent for a time.

"So," Kate eventually spoke. "Tell me about the white-haired acquaintance."

Hermione tried to appear nonchalant. "It's blond."

"The blond acquaintance then."

She spoke as casually as she could, but she could feel the blood flowing into her cheeks. "I hardly know him, although I've been aware of his existence for a while, vaguely. He just happened to be there when I was struggling with my shopping that time. That's all."

"So why can't you look me in the eye when you talk about him?"

Hermione shot her head up, flustered. "I can. I mean ... I don't know. I didn't mean ... there's nothing ..."

Kate smiled. "It's alright, Hermione. I'm not accusing you of anything. I know how close you and Ron are. He just sounds interesting, that's all. Is he attractive?"

It would have been so easy to say yes. If it had been anyone else she would have done. What did it matter?

"I ... don't know. I don't really think of him in that way." Again she had lowered her head. She was not a very good liar.

"Oh. I see," Kate smirked. She was clearly not convinced. "Well, it sounds as if he likes you. He certainly went out of his way to help you. A real gentleman. There aren't very many of them around anymore."

"If you knew what he'd done in his past, you wouldn't call him that." The words just slipped out. She immediately regretted them.

"Really!? God, Hermione. This just gets better. You must tell me."

Hermione laughed it off. "No, really. Let's not talk about it. It was nothing."

"Does Ron know him?"

"Yes."

"Does he know he helped you out the other day?"

"No."

Kate's eyebrows raised. Hermione rolled her eyes again. "Look. Let's not talk about it, OK?"

"Hermione. I'm your friend. I'm not judging you in anyway, believe me. I never will. Not that I'm saying anything's going on. But, you know, you can trust me. Don't worry. We all need a little excitement in our life."

Hermione glanced at her. Kate was smiling warmly.

Excitement was the understatement of the year.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Hermione found the next few days slipping by easily, her memory of the concert and her brief moment with Lucius still vivid in her mind. But as time wore on, she felt everyday life starting to close in on her again.

She had bought some more classical CDs in an attempt to convince herself that it was just the music which had thrilled her so. They had worked for a while, but her mind constantly returned to the extraordinary feelings he had invoked in her. She didn't get them from just waving her wand to play a disc.

It had been twenty days since the concert. Twenty days since she had seen him.

Out of sight, out of mind. Wasn't that the way it was supposed to work?

Not this time.

Instead of forgetting about the moments between them, they had simply loomed larger in her head, magnified into such a behemoth of import that she could think of little else. The routine of her life started to cloy again. She found herself easily bored of conversation, snapping at her children at the slightest thing, bickering with Ron.

She desperately wanted to see Malfoy.

She still carried his book around with her. She had read the whole thing several times now. It was about time she gave it back.

She could return it in person.

Was that what he wanted?

It was what she wanted.

_She mustn't._

For the first time, as she wondered what to do with it, she admitted that she did not know if she could trust herself. If she found herself alone with him; one moment of eye-contact, one hint of his aroma – she was not sure she could resist.

For several days, when alone, she sat at the kitchen table, the book in front of her. The object itself seemed to taunt her, tease her; the voice of her conscience.

Then one Monday morning, as the book sat before her on the table, Hermione suddenly rushed to a drawer, extracted what she needed, and wrapped the book up carefully in bubble wrap and brown paper. She then got her stationery pad to write a note.

"_Dear Mr Malfoy ..."_ (crossed out and thrown away)

"_Dear Lucius ..."_ (heavily crossed out and torn into twenty pieces)

"_Lucius ..."_ (scribbled out and screwed up)

"_Mr Malfoy, _

_Thank you so much for the loan of the book. I have found it most interesting and illuminating. It has been an honour for me to have been able to read such a rare item. Thank you also for your efforts regarding the concert a few weeks ago. It was a pleasant evening. _

_Sincerely, _

_Hermione Weasley."_

She kept the tone deliberately formal.

Then before she changed her mind, she addressed, stamped and posted the package with the note inside.

It would reach him by Muggle mail.

---------------------------------------------------------

Lucius Malfoy stared at the item which the postman had just delivered to him. When the man had come to his door, he had almost drawn his wand, so unused was he to having strangers visit his house.

He had taken the curious looking object and placed it on his own kitchen table, scrutinising the writing on the front.

_L Malfoy Esq_

_23 St James' Gardens_

_Kensington_

_London_

The script was regular and fluid, and obviously belonged to someone who in the past had written very neatly, but had since let their attention slip. It now had a slight scrawling charm to it that he found appealing.

Still, it did not take him long to guess who had sent it and what the parcel contained.

It immediately eradicated any brightness he may have felt on waking that day.

It was now over three weeks since the concert.

He had waited. He had been patient.

He had thought the events of that evening were enough, and that she would come to him soon.

He was wrong.

In the days that had passed, he had thought possibly his feelings, his needs would subside. They had not. He had continued to think about the girl every day, hiding himself away, both in London and at the Manor, sitting in darkness, so only her image remained in his vision.

And now, she had returned his book.

The only reason he had leant it to her was to provide an opportunity for her to bring it back in person.

The package remained unopened for some time, then suddenly he grabbed it and tore the paper and wrapping off.

The book lay inside with a small note.

He took it in his hands and read it quickly, snorting in derision.

"_Mr Malfoy! ... most interesting ... a pleasant evening! .... sincerely!"_

He could not even bring himself to read her married name at the bottom.

He sneered and tossed it onto the table before him, crossing his arms in frustration.

His eyes moved to the letter again and he eyed it suspiciously. Then suddenly scraping his chair back, he crossed to a drawer and took out a pair of scissors, returning, and cutting off the name 'Weasley' from the paper, before touching the scrap with his wand. It instantly disappeared in flames.

The fire caught the tip of his finger and he jerked back with pain, cursing under his breath.

He remained at the kitchen table for some time, his breathing heavy, his mind dull with displeasure.

Lucius stood suddenly, anger still coursing through him, and placed the book on the marble of the worktop. He picked it up and turned the pages, picturing her reading it. What had she thought of his notes? She must have realised they were his. Something caught his eye. It was a long fine brown hair, caught in the pages. It was hers.

His mouth fell open and he picked up the single strand in his fingers as if it was spun gold itself. Lucius held it up to study it, his brows creasing in his attempt to absorb every detail. He picked the book up in his other hand and smelt it. It smelt of him and his house, but under that aroma now was another; a lighter, lemony scent. He turned his head to the hair again, and slowly wound it around his finger, not so tight as to cut off the circulation, but tight enough to give a constriction which reminded him of her.

Why had she denied him her presence?

His temper rose quickly again and his nostrils flared.

_Bitch._

_Stupid mudblood bitch._

He slammed his fist hard down on the marble top, his eyes widening in unrestrained fury.

Leaning over the worktop with both hands, the anger surged through his rigid body and he kicked the cupboard below over and over again, a cry of malevolent frustration breaking the air.

He stood, breathing heavily and became aware in the midst of his passion of the throbbing ache in his groin. His penis was engorged, pressing agonisingly against its constraints.

After another kick of exasperation, he reached quickly down and pulled himself free, encircling the rigid shaft in his hand and pumping it frantically, desperate to assuage the fire which was consuming him.

His breathing grew ragged, and his hand pulled and squeezed his flesh harder and harder. He glanced down at her hair wound tightly round his finger and saw before him her wide brown eyes, her hair tumbling in unruly waves over her face, her lips ... her lips...

He came with a gasping cry, spurting erratically onto the kitchen floor.

Once he had recovered, he looked down with disgust at the mess he had created.

His actions may have appeased an immediate need, but his anger remained. How dare she reduce him, Lucius Malfoy, to this?

It would have to be soon.

He would have to see her again.

But then at last, as the fog of anger cleared, he realised that her actions were reason to be encouraged, not frustrated.

He at last allowed his mind to think about it rationally. The tone of the letter, the fact that she had sent the book by post; the girl was terrified.

She was deceiving herself. She knew full well she wanted him. Could she not trust herself to come to him personally? Clearly not.

At last, Malfoy allowed himself a glow of satisfaction.

If he could see her again, however briefly, it would be enough. Of that he was sure.

Should he discover her address? It would not be hard. A few discreet words around the Ministry, a little eaves-dropping perhaps.

He was becoming so desperate that he thought he would have to. But something prevented him. He did not want to see her with that man, with her children. It depressed him and could potentially distract her.

And besides, he was merely paving the way. It was she who would take the final steps along the path.

It seemed he would have to rely on luck, and a little more patience.

Fortunately, for Lucius Malfoy, fate was again about to play a hand.

-----------------------------------------------------

It was Saturday. Rose was going to a birthday party and Hugo was potty training. After dropping her daughter off, Hermione came home to find Ron running around after his son with a potty, as Hugo delighted in evading him and finding a corner of the living room to wee in instead.

Hermione came in, surveyed the scene, decided Ron was perfectly in control, and promptly left again, calling after her, "Just have to pop to Diagon Alley for a bit."

She disapparated just as she heard her husband shouting, "Mione! Wait a minute! What do I do if ..."

Hermione arrived at the top end of the street, and caught her breath. She looked around, amazed to find herself on her own for a change. Breathing deeply, she walked down the road. It was not too busy, as rain was falling steadily, but Hermione would gladly put up with a little dampness for some time to herself.

She perused the shops, taking her time, before remembering she did actually have to pop into Gringott's on a financial matter.

She entered the imposing building. There were hardly any goblins working on Saturday, and only two desks were manned. There were long queues at each. She sighed, but then realised it created more of an excuse to be solitary and silent for a time. She took her place in the shortest queue.

As usual, the queue she was in seemed to move slower than the other. As soon as she stood in it, the other queue started to shorten. She did not mind especially. She glanced over her shoulder to see how long the adjacent queue had become.

Lucius Malfoy had just arrived to stand in it.

Her belly instantly somersaulted.

He had not noticed her, but eventually raised his head to the front and saw her.

At first he looked surprised, taken aback, and she saw in his eyes a glow of exhilaration which thrilled her.

She remained looking at him, aware that she was twisting herself around to see him.

The expression on his face changed to a smile of satisfaction. His haughtiness at any other time would have infuriated her, and she tried to draw such a reaction from herself now, but found herself unable to do so. Just seeing him filled her with such immense delight that she did not care how he reacted.

There was a loud tut behind her. "Move along, please."

She was jolted to her senses and, glancing behind her, was met by the sight of a small wizard with a pointed beard and half-moon glasses. He looked distinctly annoyed.

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled to him before turning to the front to see that a big gap had opened up between her and the next person. She moved up to fill it.

She did not look behind her again, but the queues progressed in such a way that she eventually found herself in line with Malfoy in the adjacent queue.

She knew she shouldn't, but could not resist turning her head towards him. What was wrong with that? There was nothing wrong with being polite to the man, after the things which had transpired between them in recent weeks.

He was looking at her. The expression of smug satisfaction had changed to mild bemusement.

She smiled genuinely at him. He returned it.

She looked to the front again as her queue moved forward.

Eventually he became level once more.

She tried not to look round. She could hear her heart thudding in her chest. Her skin prickled.

Her head moved. He was looking directly at her, the smile still there. This time, she merely held his gaze; she was incapable of anything else.

Another tut from behind her. She turned to the front. It was her turn. She dealt with her business and finished.

Malfoy was still at the desk. She could just walk out, leave now.

Hermione stood in the lobby, folding the piece of parchment she had just been given into an unnecessarily tiny square before putting it in her bag. Then she dug in her bag for something she was sure she needed.

"Miss Granger. Another pleasant surprise."

She looked up, trying her hardest to appear calm.

"Mr Malfoy. And still you have not learnt my name."

He smiled, simply looking down at her. She did not know what to say, but the silence was not awkward.

"Did you receive the book intact?"

"I did."

Silence.

"Have you had any further feedback from the concert?"

"Yes. People have been most generous, although the Quidditch players whom it will most benefit have been distinctly silent in their appreciation."

She smiled. "Does that surprise you?"

"Hmm," he trailed off. "No children today, Miss Granger? You appear remarkably unencumbered."

She laughed. "Thank god for that! No, they're ... elsewhere."

"You have not lost them completely, I trust?" he joked.

"No!" Hermione could not help giggling and blushing at his humour. It crossed her mind that it would be completely normal to ask an acquaintance such as this to join her for coffee at this point and wondered if she dared. _No._ Coffee with Lucius Malfoy was not the same as coffee with anyone else.

"I hope you have been listening to lots of Schubert since the concert?"

She darted her head up. "Well, actually, I did buy some CDs. But, you know, I seem to be the only person in the house who appreciates it."

He stared down at her. "It is best to listen to such music either alone or in the company of someone who understands it as much as oneself."

"Yes." She paused. "Are you in London long?"

"I return to the Manor in a moment. But I am up on business again on Tuesday. I shall stay at St James' Gardens."

She nodded, wondering why. The corners of his mouth twitched.

Hermione swallowed hard. She knew she didn't want to leave his presence. His tall form loomed over her, and once again, as at the concert, she swayed, almost as if she would fall into him. She desperately wanted to talk more. It was so invigorating, refreshing, just ... different. Surely coffee wouldn't be such a bad thing? She opened her mouth. "Mr Malfoy ... would you care to ..."

"Goodness. Look at the time. I must go, Miss Granger. As ever, it has been a delight."

He bowed slightly to her with a smirk, turned and swept out of the door.

Hermione reeled. Her cheeks, which were already pink, flushed scarlet.

The sudden deprivation of his presence came as a shock to her.

_What the hell had happened then?_

She felt foolish, presumptuous. Why had he interrupted her so suddenly? He could tell she was about to ask him something.

_Bastard. _

She seethed with anger. How dare he make her look so needy, betray her feelings, only to be thwarted? She could do no more than sit on a chair in the bank for a moment, while her senses recovered. They did not fully.

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Lucius Malfoy swept down Diagon Alley in a euphoric mood. Not only had he seen the mudblood, assuaging some of the need that threatened to send him into madness, he had also confirmed her desire for him. She was about to ask him to do something ... join him for a drink, perhaps? He guessed that was quite likely. How he would have loved to. He could think of nothing he would have liked more at that particular moment, apart from one thing, of course.

But it was not quite the time.

He had led her to water, but had not let her drink. Oh no. She would have to take the last few steps herself to quench the thirst which burned in them both.

He smirked to himself as he glided down the street, turning into a space from which to apparate.

His wait was nearly over.

* * *

**Oh yes indeed.**

**Until next time. Leave your thoughts so far, if you wish. xxx**


	6. Chapter 6

**Again, I am behind on review responses. Sorry. I thought you'd rather I posted the next chapter in my limited time!**

**So ... whatever next ...?**

* * *

Hermione returned home after her encounter with Malfoy. She was not sure if she felt better or worse.

Seeing him had certainly invigorated her and given her an undeniable thrill, but his behaviour had been frustrating and embarrassing.

How dare he abandon her? Had she misread the signs? If so, what was all that at the concert?

_No._

She knew he wanted her. His sudden departure merely inflamed her passion for him even more.

It was intolerable.

She drove to pick Rose up from the party. It was rare to get the car to herself. Cars were a necessary Muggle possession in order to exist in both worlds, but Ron normally hogged it for himself. He was becoming increasingly like his father.

She cursed Malfoy as she drove.

_Bastard. Insufferable arrogant bastard. _

She stopped at a red light and realised tears were streaming down her face. Hermione sat and sobbed uncontrollably, unable to stem the chaos which seemed about to engulf her.

The honking of car horns started behind her. She snapped to, and realised the lights had changed. Putting her foot down, she accelerated away from the junction, spinning her wheels inadvertently.

On arriving to pick up her daughter from the village hall the party had been held at, she found herself incapable of doing anything but sit for a while. Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw eyes red from crying staring back at her. She took a moment to compose herself, then, taking a deep breath, she got out of the car and set her face into a forced smile.

"Hi, sweetie!"

Rose came bounding up as soon as she entered the hall and flung herself into her mother's arms. Hermione held her as if her life depended on it. "Did you have a good time?"

Rose nodded.

"Everything alright?" Hermione asked the hostess, who smiled with the exhausted relief of a mother who had just completed something she vowed never to do again.

As she glanced around the room, balloons on the floor, trodden sandwiches underfoot, she was struck by the contrast with what had happened to her earlier in the day. She nearly laughed out loud with a combination of disbelief and despair. Instead, she turned to the hostess, put on her best Middle England voice and said, "Well, thank you very much. What do you say, Rose?"

"Thank you," the little girl smiled up.

Hermione took her hand and led her away. She managed to chat happily with her daughter on the way home, with no repeat of the incident at the traffic lights.

When they got into the house, Ron was looking frazzled. There was a bucket of soapy water in the middle of the floor, and wet patches all around the house.

Hermione took one look at the scene and started to laugh. She could not stop. The laughter heaved its way out of her until tears rolled down her cheeks.

Ron did not appreciate her reaction, but Rose and Hugo thought it was hilarious and joined their mother in the hysteria.

"What?!" her husband spat out bitterly.

"Nothing ... it's just ... it's just ... nothing." Hermione turned from him and darted up the stairs, where she locked herself in the bathroom, her laughter changing immediately to heaving sobs of desolation; the tears now coursing down her cheeks, genuine tears of anguish.

----------------------------------------------------

Ron did not notice his wife's detachment over the next few days. Or if he did, he did not comment on it. They passed a peaceful Sunday, taking the children to the park. Hermione seemed content enough, but hardly conversed with him at all.

He went to work on Monday.

"Everything alright, Mione?" he had tentatively asked before leaving.

"Yes," she had smiled up at him, although he thought he saw a brief look of alarm flick across her face first. "It's just with Hugo training, and everything. I'm just a bit tired."

"Well, he's just about there now. We've done it, I reckon. Team effort."

She had smiled again. "Yeah. Team effort. See you later."

"Bye, love." He had leant down and kissed her, but only on the cheek, as she did not turn her head towards him.

Hermione sat at the table for a while. A flicker of guilt passed through her. It was the first that had. She found it curious.

The children ran up to her screaming. Normally, she would have quickly ushered them out of the house, or set about an activity, but today simply could not face it.

"Come on! Let's see what's on TV, shall we?"

She put on a children's television channel she knew she could trust. The two little ones settled down on the sofa contentedly. Hermione looked down at them for a while, before going to put on the kettle. She stayed in the kitchen to drink her tea, stirring it carefully, watching the little vortex she was creating in the middle.

It was as if she was existing on two planes. The one where she went about her everyday life without complaining, fulfilling the tasks required of her, and the other one ... the one of Schubert, and Turner, of books ... and passion.

The trouble was, the one was beginning to affect the other. When she was with Malfoy, and immediately after, she found herself much better equipped to deal with the trivialities of her daily existence. When she had not seen him for a while, or when her time with him had been curtailed, as on Saturday, she was desperate. It consumed her entirely.

Whenever she was alone, she invariably found herself imagining him there, talking to her, reaching out to her, encircling her in his arms. She made no effort to banish the thoughts from her head. She had no desire to.

She was not in love with the man. She just wanted him. Wanted his presence, mental and physical. The need was becoming unbearable.

Monday passed slowly. By the end of the day, she was exhausted and went to bed early. Sleep did not come to her for a long time, however, and she found herself alone before Ron came in, touching the bud of flesh between her thighs, finding it alive with anticipation. She came quickly, thinking of one man only. It was not her husband.

Tuesday morning was better. Rose went to nursery and Hugo slept long over lunch.

But Hermione could not rest. Her whole body was alive, as if she had a current of electricity passing through it. She knew why. Malfoy would be in London that evening. The knowledge that he was going to be at his home, the home she had been to, could imagine him in, filled her with such a thrill, she hardly sat still all day.

In the afternoon, Rose had come home, and was tetchy after nursery. Hermione was in no mood to deal with it, and lost her temper with her daughter, frequently placing her on the naughty step, from which Rose kept getting up immediately.

It was little better with Hugo. Her newly potty trained son insisted on frequent trips to the toilet, of at least once every fifteen minutes, and by the time Ron came home, Hermione was at her wits end.

"Bad day?" Ron sighed as he walked in.

"Can you tell?" spat Hermione sarcastically as Rose screamed from the landing and Hugo latched onto his father's legs.

She managed to put them down for an early night, however, and sat slumped in the living room. Ron came in next to her and started to talk in detail about the newest plans for the England team. Hermione listened for about a minute then tuned out, not hearing a word. The only thing her mind was hearing was the first movement of Schubert's E Flat Trio. Her eyes closed. She could hardly breathe. The atmosphere in the room seemed completely airless.

She was aware of Ron's voice droning in the background, but he might as well have been talking to his slippers, for all she heard.

She got up and left the room. Ron looked up in mild surprise then picked up the Daily Prophet and started to read.

Hermione felt as if she was on auto-pilot. But she knew exactly what she was doing. Reaching for her bag, she took out her mobile and rang her own home number. The landline phone next to her rang. She left it for a moment before picking it up, then replacing it immediately. After five minutes she went back into Ron.

"Who was that?" he inquired cheerily, not looking up from the paper.

"Oh god. You know my friend Lucy?" He shook his head with a shrug. "Well, her husband has just left her. She's gutted. She sounded absolutely desperate on the phone. She wants me to go and see her. She hasn't got anyone else round here. I'm quite worried about her. Do you think I could?"

Ron looked a bit fed up, but shrugged again resignedly. "Yeah, s'pose. Kids are asleep, aren't they?"

"Yes. They're out for the count."

"Well, alright then."

"I don't know how long I'll be. It may take quite a while, like a few hours. She sounded desperate."

"Alright. Can you apparate? I don't want you out on your own at night."

"Yes. Don't worry. I'll ... see you then."

"OK. Bye." He had returned to his paper.

Hermione did not stop to think what she was doing. She had just lied spectacularly to her husband and felt no shame whatsoever. She grabbed her bag and left, disapparating once outside.

-----------------------------------------------------------

She arrived outside 23 St James' Gardens.

A dim light was on in the front reception room and hallway

For the first time in an age, Hermione felt utterly sure of herself.

She walked up the steps and rang the doorbell.

It was not long before the door was opened and light flooded out. Silhouetted before her was the tall figure of Lucius Malfoy.

He looked at her without a hint of surprise or condescension on his face, merely the same expression of certainty that she herself felt. He stepped aside smoothly and she walked through, not stopping until she had gone into the reception room he had shown her to before.

She heard footsteps behind her and turned, looking up into his face. It was beautiful. Hermione examined it momentarily.

Her hand came up and slapped him hard. The sting resounded through the room.

His head turned with the impact, but apart from that, he did not react, and brought it back to look coolly at her.

She did it again, harder yet. Then almost immediately she started pummelling his chest with her hands, beating at him, her eyes suddenly filling with hot tears of rage and desire. He did nothing to stop her.

Her hands were still at his chest, thumping, trying to beat understanding out of him, but her fingers then moved to his buttons, and with equal desperation she fumbled at them, trying to undo them. It was only then, when at last she had given in, that he reached up and held her wrists, gently, but at the same time so strongly that she could move no more.

Still clasping her wrists firmly, his eyes searched her face, resting at last on her lips. He exhaled slightly. She willed him closer. Then slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, he lowered his head towards her. She tried to suppress a sob, but could not, and her mouth fell open as it escaped her softly. He glanced into her eyes briefly and she could see an azure blue flame deep within the grey. He refocused on her mouth and moved again.

At last the distance between them vanished and Hermione felt his warm firm lips pressing against hers. They both took a moment to be still, joined quite innocently. It was Hermione who moved her mouth under his first. His lips were soft and tender, remarkably so. She pressed hard into them and was rewarded by increased urgency from him. Slowly he parted her and she felt his tongue flit into her. She granted him freedom to move within her and sensed a softening of his being as he absorbed her. Lucius allowed his own sound of release float out from within her and into her. At this Hermione met his tongue with her own, firing them both. He reached behind her head and held it close to him, his lips and tongue now moving hungrily. She responded equally and with a slight moan allowed his passion to consume her as he plundered her mouth more and more frantically.

She could hardly breathe, but did not care or even notice. He had released her hands and she brought them up to his shirt again, tugging at the buttons. Her body ached with desire. The throb in her belly had spread throughout her being and she needed to see him, feel as much of him as she could. She gave up on his shirt and moved down to the buckle of his belt, but he pushed her hands away roughly, and instead manoeuvred her back to lie across the sofa.

"No," he hissed out with surprising brutality. "I will take what I need first. I have waited too long."

Hermione was confused by his words, but not threatened by them, and found them fuelling her desire yet more. She lay back as he moved down her body, his hands running over her as he went. He reached her jeans. He was breathing heavily, desperately, and his brows were furrowed in tormented concentration. She moaned into the room, her body writhing on the sofa. His hands undid her jeans and pulled them roughly off her legs, scratching her flesh as he went. Holding her underwear in one hand, he tore it from her, letting it fall uselessly to the ground.

Then with a grunt of success, he stepped back and looked at her, reaching forward to place his hands on her thighs. His fingers dug in firmly, branding the flesh, before he pulled her legs slowly apart, revealing the sacred place inside little by little.

She stilled; waiting, expectant.

She heard his breathing. It was heavy with wonder at what lay before him.

He moved his head between her legs.

Hermione held her breath.

And then quite suddenly his tongue came out and licked from bottom to top in one smooth motion. He drew back with the deepest gasp of satisfaction.

She juddered, trying to keep still, knowing her pleasure was flooding out.

Lucius returned swiftly to her wet folds, now more nimble and delicate, occasionally questing up into her with his tongue before running back along and up to her throbbing clit.

She glanced down. The man before her was entirely focused on his task, as if he had been starved of sustenance for days. Her juices flowed onto him and every drop he met and devoured with avid hunger.

Hermione's head fell back again, and she abandoned herself to the feelings that were coursing through her limbs. There was no remorse, no guilt, only a certainty verging on absolute truth. At that point, she felt this was what her body had been made for. Lucius Malfoy knew it was.

Hermione felt two fingers inserted into her, and he started to rub agilely, coaxing ever sweeter sensations from within.

Her hands came down instinctively and she gripped his head, pressing him further into her. He responded with increased vigour, his tongue lapping up her ceaseless pleasure before rising to encircle her swollen bud of flesh.

The pleasure, which in actual fact, had started its inexorable rise within her since that first time on the terrace, was finally coiled for release. It had not taken long. It could not have done this first time. Hermione's body tensed, and with a final languid swoop of his tongue it melted. Her orgasm was pulled ferociously and explosively from her body and she cried out with staggering conviction.

"Oh god ... _oh god, yes, Lucius!"_ Her hands pushed him hard against her. He revelled in it and as her pleasure poured from her, drank it down in deep gulps.

Malfoy stayed at her sex for a while until she had quietened, then slumped back to sit against the wall opposite.

At last he was sated.

He had tasted her, opened her to him. He remained still, breathing deeply, her essence strong in his mouth.

It was more than he had ever expected. The immediate satisfaction he had derived from it was enhanced by her utter abandonment. He wondered for a minute if the satisfaction and pleasure gained from the act would be enough, that he would not need to take any more from the mudblood. But glancing across at her, lying incumbent on his sofa, her eyes bleary with lust, he felt the throb in his groin and knew he could take her as he wished.

But never had he gained so much satisfaction, so much pleasure from giving to someone else, despite the climax being entirely hers. The mudblood had lain before him, utterly subservient and open. Her compliance, her willingness to expose her being to him, him, whom he knew represented to her everything she abhorred; it was a revelation.

But now he would have her completely. He would take her exquisite mudblood body and use it for his own pleasure. And that would be the end of it.

Just then, Hermione looked over at him and smiled weakly.

Something inside him shifted. His face flinched.

Raising himself up, he crossed to her, looking down from his elevated position. She could see the familiar arrogance in his features, but it was tempered by something else, something she had never associated with him before. Her eyes lowered to his groin. She could see his desire ever more urgent before her eyes. Immediately, she wanted him inside her. Needed him.

Her head fell back and she moaned with undiluted lust.

Lucius Malfoy could do no more. He bent down and picked the girl up in his arms, bearing her swiftly out of the room and up the stairs. Hermione drew her hands around his neck and nestled her head into his crisp shirt, breathing him in.

Malfoy carried her along a corridor and kicked a door open. Hermione found herself being thrown down onto a large, opulent bed. Looking around the room, she could tell that it was his, the master bedroom. She had no concern. She knew his wife never visited here. She wanted to be nowhere else.

Malfoy stood above her, pulling his shirt off quickly. Hermione's eyes fell over the pale flesh of his torso, taking in the sculpted muscles beneath. She thought him magnificent, with the body of a man much younger than his years. She noted the scarring which marked his skin, reminding her of his past. At that moment it only drew her to him further, and she extended her limbs desperately over the rich covering of the bed, her eyes falling to the apex of his thighs where she could see his desire straining for release.

With a groan of imminent fulfilment, Lucius pulled off his trousers and was immediately revealed to her.

At last. She knew this is what she had been wanting, what she had been waiting for. She took in the sight before her. His engorged flesh rose out rigid and vital. He was thick and long, and Hermione could not prevent a momentary comparison between him and her husband.

There was no comparison.

She needed him to fill her; fill her body, fill the emptiness which had been consuming her for so long.

Lucius stood looking down at her, his body poised, his cock so swollen with lust it hurt. He could have her now, plunge into her, take his pleasure, satisfy the need which had tormented him so long. His blood pulsed red hot round his fevered body.

_Now. Now._

But looking down at her, something altered in his mind, as it had earlier. This exquisite creature, so acquiescent before him, as much in need as him.

Yes, he would take his pleasure, but not at the expense of hers. His desire to satisfy her nearly overrode his own demands.

Instead of thrusting into her, intent on his own satisfaction, he found himself lowering towards her body slowly, gently. Her mouth opened, a perfect round O of soft warmth. He kissed it with a tenderness which surprised him, delighting in the taste of honeyed apricots. She moaned a moan of pure, innocent bliss. The feeling inside him swelled. He deepened the kiss and moved his mouth down her body, her flesh so smooth, like dewy velvet. A groan of his own escaped him involuntarily as he caught her taut nipples in his mouth, plying the flesh of her breasts as he went.

She spoke. It was barely audible, a whispered breath caught in the fog of her desire. At first he thought it to be merely another involuntary groan, but then he detected a word, soft at first, but so intense as to pierce his soul.

"Please."

He raised his head slightly.

"Please ... Lucius ... you must ... I need you inside me ... _you must be inside me ... please."_

Her complete capitulation overwhelmed him and he felt the inexorable tightening in his groin. Holding his rigid shaft, he glanced down and positioned himself, then looking up once more into her eyes, he pushed fully into her, in one smooth, fluid stroke.

His own eyes closed in rapture as the most perfect pleasure engulfed him, but he forced them open immediately to watch her. Her mouth fell open and gasped in a breath, her eyes rolling back in her head. He had never seen or felt such beauty. He knew the perfection of the moment would never be repeated.

Her eyes fell back to his and she too returned his gaze and together they lay, still and silent, their quest complete at last.

Hermione had never known such fullness possible. After the children, she had developed insecurities about her body and how the sexual act was for her husband. With Lucius inside her, she dismissed those thoughts instantly. She felt as tight as she had as a virgin.

After a time of quietude, she could stand no more and spoke from a place so deep within, she hardly knew it was her.

"Move. I need you to move. I need to feel you filling me. Fuck me. Please fuck me hard now."

The coarse words were spoken with such delicate pleading they fired not only his passion but his psyche. How could he think of taking this woman's body just for himself? She was so perfect before him that his features creased with realisation.

Hermione groaned again and arched off the bed, flexing her inner walls around him. Malfoy moaned in sudden pleasure. He started to move, slowly at first, then increasingly urgently as her moans and cries conveyed the approach of her orgasm.

He moved into a kneeling position and drew both her legs onto his shoulders, knowing this way he could angle himself to drive both of them perfectly towards ecstasy.

"Yes! Oh god, that's it. Don't stop. _My god, don't stop."_

Her expressiveness was astonishing. The contrast between her pleas for pleasure and the well-mannered, tight intellectual brought a surge of delight through him which merely heightened the experience.

He continued to plough into her, faster and more brutally now, his strokes accompanied by grunts of deepest satisfaction.

Hermione lay beneath him. His size filled her very core and he rubbed exquisitely along her g-spot with each thrust. She spoke without knowing. "Yes, please, please, more, harder, harder."

Just as she thought she was there, his hand came down to find her ripe clit and stroke it.

The shock of this added attention sent her over the edge and she froze, an expression of surprised rapture capturing her features. She held his gaze as the pleasure cascaded relentlessly through her. When it reached its peak she could only fall back uselessly, words pouring unknown from her mouth.

"Oh god, oh my god, Lucius, at last, _at last_ ..." her voice trailed off into a sob of completion. He felt her walls pulsing around him. It brought him indescribable sensations, which were equalled by the sight and sound of her ecstasy. He continued to pound into her, then finally, when he could hold back no more, he gave himself over to perfection. With a final push fully into her, he came. His pleasure exploded out of him and surged through his taut muscles, coursing through them more profoundly than he could ever remember.

His cry of triumph sounded in the air around them, and as the last spurts of his release finally left him amidst his gasping groans, he collapsed onto her, slick with sweat.

They lay silently entwined for a long while, before he slowly moved off and lay beside her. As he slipped out, she realised a tear was falling down her cheek. A tear, not of repentance, but of fulfilment.

They did not speak.

His hand came over and stroked her hair, he was not sure why. It was not something he would normally do after such an act.

She must leave now.

They both thought it, but neither did anything about it.

Over an hour passed in perfect silence. Hermione lay upon his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart within. His hand remained on her head, running his fingers lightly through the unruly curls.

_She must go now._ He told himself over and over. It was accomplished. His thirst was quenched. He had had the mudblood. She had served her purpose. _She must go._

He still lay there, unable to move. He admitted that he was perfectly happy.

It was Hermione who at last raised herself up.

"I have to go."

She sat up, not wanting to break the spell. She had no intention of repeating this.

Her very being still tingled with remembered pleasure. As she saw his body lying naked before her, she felt something inside breaking with the finality of it.

She turned, hardly able to look at him.

"Thank you." It was one of the sincerest things she had ever said.

Lucius heard the words, took them, and buried them deep within.

_Go now. Go now. I shall not stop you._

Hermione pushed herself off the bed. A hand reached over and grabbed her suddenly by the wrist. It was not painful but hard and desperate.

She turned once more to look at him, the intensity agonising.

He pulled her towards him and gazing from her eyes to her lips, brought his mouth up to hers, kissing her so sublimely she knew she would weep. When he broke apart she raised herself quickly and, not looking again, picked up the clothes which were in the room. There were more downstairs, she would dress out of his sight.

He had not spoken a word to her since that first moment downstairs.

Hermione retrieved her things, her face dampening rapidly, and hurried from the room.

Malfoy lay prone in the bed. He pushed himself into a sitting position and sniffed in to clear his mind.

It was done. He could get on with his life again.

* * *

**Let's just say, this is not the end of the story ...**

**Leave your thoughts if you would. xxx**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks for the lovely reviews. I have been very busy so apologies for the delay in posting. You are all lovely, as ever!**

**So ... one taste ... will it suffice? What the bloody hell do you think!?**

* * *

Hermione apparated into her kitchen. Ron had left a light on for her.

She stood, not seeing anything. Her mind felt numb, but her body was still alive with pleasure and completion. She instinctively rubbed her legs together. She had not washed properly, and felt a thick dampness between her legs which she knew to be Malfoy's seed.

Hermione glanced around at her surroundings. The children's brightly coloured plastic beakers stood on the draining board. There was a velociraptor with a missing leg under the kitchen table. She moved her legs again and felt him inside her, felt his mouth on her, remembered her orgasms, taking her beyond any she could previously recall.

Did she feel guilt? Shame?

No. She inhaled deeply and air rushed into her lungs.

She could breathe again.

Hermione walked up the stairs. She softly opened the door to the children's room and crept inside.

Rose was half in and half out of her covers and Hermione tucked them back around her. Hugo was sleeping like an angel. Hermione smiled. Children were never so immaculate as when asleep.

She kissed her son and daughter tenderly and closed the door behind her as she left, repeating a process she had done every night for the last few years.

Going into the bathroom, she stripped. She would have to throw her knickers away; they had been ripped apart by Malfoy. Hermione stood and looked at her naked body in the mirror. Her nipples were still a dark swollen pink from the pleasure they had received. She brought her hands up to her breasts and drew her fingers over them, once again waiting for the shame to come.

Still it did not.

Eventually, she ran the bidet and lowered herself onto it, washing him out of her. It pained her to do so. She had caught some on her fingers before it disappeared and examined it, rubbing the viscous substance between them. Then, with a sharp inhalation of breath, she watched it swirl down the plug.

Hermione showered, aware that she must not retain any lingering smell of another man.

Then, when satisfied that she was fully clean, having also cast a cleansing charm to be absolutely certain, she went into her bedroom.

Ron was fast asleep, snoring as usual. Again, no guilt took her, merely annoyance that she would not be able to get to sleep due to the noise.

She lay down beside her husband and turned away from him.

He stirred and awoke, rolling over a little to mumble to her, "That you, Mione? You OK? Your friend OK?"

"Yes. I think I was able to help. Go back to sleep."

With a small grunt of acceptance, Ron turned and fell asleep again.

It took Hermione much longer, but it was not regret that was keeping her mind awake. She spent most of the night replaying the memories of Lucius Malfoy's body inside her.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione went about her tasks the next day as if nothing had happened. Her conscience was remarkably clear and she felt a strength and exhilaration she had not had for an age. The experience had seemed to be a form of healing, a catharsis. She knew she had needed it and therefore her mind allowed her no remorse. She kissed her husband goodbye in exactly the same manner she always did, thinking no different of it.

As the day wore on, she noticed she was engaging with the children with renewed vitality. She was more patient and equable with them than she could remember being for some time, and suggested activities which she would not normally have considered. Her whole being seemed simply to be more alive.

She thought about the moments between her and Malfoy, their bodies joined, his mouth on her, his manhood within her, but she thought little of him as a person. She did not stop to wonder what he was doing now, what he was feeling. It seemed irrelevant.

She had had a deep-rooted need and she had addressed it. It had helped loosen the knot which had seemed to be tightening around her neck, around her life.

Now she could start living again.

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Lucius Malfoy awoke the next day with a smug grin of satisfaction.

His time with her had been more than he could have imagined. He could not remember the last time he had experienced such complete pleasure.

But it was done.

_Thank Merlin._

He would not have to think about the mudblood girl again.

He rose swiftly from the bed and went to the bathroom, turning on the shower. Checking the temperature, he moved it to its hottest setting and let steam fill the room. Then breathing deeply, he stepped inside and stood, allowing the water to pour over his body in little rivers of searing heat, pulling his fine hairs down straight to cling to his reddening skin as it went.

After a long while he at last emerged, wrapping a pure white towel around his long form and returning to the bedroom. He dried and dressed, carefully doing up a crisp shirt as white as the towel he had discarded, and pulling his black frock coat over the top. The main disadvantage of his house was its position in the middle of Muggle London. The frock coat was his one concession to conforming. Even he was not narcissistic enough to enjoy the stares and comments the wearing of robes in central London would have invoked. He would change into his robes as soon as he was within wizarding environs.

He sat on the bed to put on his cufflinks and inhaled sharply to concentrate on the task.

An aroma reached his senses.

It was her perfume, lingering on the pillow, on the sheets.

He stopped suddenly, his face flickering, at first with a memory ... and something else, further down his body, deep inside ... he drew himself up and grimaced with repugnance.

Standing abruptly, he pulled the sheets off the bed with venomous ardour. Throwing them and the pillowcases on the floor, he waved his wand over them and immediately they ignited in a ball of flame. Malfoy watched until they were reduced to a pile of ash, then with another wave of his wand, cleared up the remnants.

He inhaled with satisfaction, readjusted his cuffs and left the room.

_There was no more to it._

_-------------------------------------------------------------------_

The days wore on. Hermione still thought occasionally about the incident with Malfoy, but always with a strangely detached quality, as if it had happened in a dream, or as if she had been outside herself, merely fulfilling a task which needed to be performed.

But the euphoria she had experienced in the aftermath of it remained. It fuelled her, fired her blood. She seemed to be enjoying all that life had to give her. The little quirks and shortcomings which used to irritate her in her husband and children, she now found she could tolerate and make light of. Her sex life with Ron had improved. He was as uninventive as ever, but Hermione found herself suggesting new things and trying them out.

She was radiant.

When Hermione did recall the pleasure she had experienced with Malfoy that night, and the details of how she had attained it, she told herself that she had largely forgotten the man himself.

_That was how it should be._

Time wore on. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months.

It was September. She was due to start back at work at the Ministry. It was the moment she had been waiting for.

After an anxious first day, Rose started school. The little girl had not been anxious at all, but Hermione and Ron certainly had. But they need not have worried. Their bright, ebullient daughter quickly settled into the routine and challenge that her new environment brought her. Hugo attended nursery several days a week, including one of the days Hermione did not work.

She was in a different job to before, and found herself slightly disappointed with the mundane tasks that were initially assigned her, but she realised she had been out of the workplace for a while and needed to re-establish herself first. It was still fantastic to be surrounded by intelligent witches and wizards again, although by Hermione's standards, the word intelligent could hardly be applied to many of them.

Hermione shared an office in a large room with about ten other people. She was currently working on security at high-profile wizarding events. The one being discussed at the meeting on the fifteenth of October was the Quidditch World Cup.

Hermione had already talked about the aspects that applied to her and sat back for the rest of the meeting, knowing she would not be needed.

She let her mind wander, thinking about what she needed to buy for supper on the way home. Snippets of conversation occasionally reached her, but she was largely able to ignore all that was said.

Shacklebolt's voice intoned from across the table, "Of course, Lucius Malfoy will have to be consulted on that."

Her ears focused on the name immediately and a twisting pulse surged through Hermione's body. She found herself speaking without thinking. "Consulted? On what, sorry?"

All eyes in the room turned to her at her sudden interjection.

"There's no need to concern yourself with it, Hermione," Shacklebolt continued. "It does not apply to your department."

"Doesn't it?" She did not even know what 'it' was.

Shacklebolt looked at her in confusion. "No. You don't need to worry about the choice of music at the opening ceremony. I don't imagine that will lead to many security issues." He chuckled to himself sardonically, and the laughter spread around the room.

Hermione did not hear it, but spoke again. "All the same, the choice of music is vital to setting the right tone for the whole event. Will Mr Malfoy be coming here to discuss the issue?"

"That isn't necessary. He has already submitted a short-list, and we can owl him with the queries. It is largely up to the management committee to finalise the arrangements now."

An oppressive sensation sank through Hermione. She recognised it. It was disappointment.

She stared out into the room. The voices continued around her, fading from her consciousness once again. The only thing her mind allowed her was the image of firm taut muscles, smooth skin, mouth burning, flesh pounding, pounding.

"Excuse me." She stood suddenly. She had to get out.

Hermione pushed her chair back and walked with as much composure as she could from the room, hurrying to the bathroom. Once there, she practically ran to the sink and turned the cold water on, splashing her face repeatedly. She stared at herself in the mirror, water dripping down her skin.

_Come on. Come on. It's over. It's done._

_Shit._

_Shit shit shit._

_----------------------------------------------------------------_

"I'm glad to see the supplies of firewhisky replenished ... and the Glenfiddich for that matter." Narcissa made no attempt to mask the terse put-down of her husband as she studied the drinks cabinet at the Manor.

Lucius shot her a venomous glare from behind the Daily Prophet.

It was true, however. In the seven weeks that had passed since his encounter with the Mudblood, he had had no desire or need to slake his thirst with the burn of alcohol.

He could still taste her on his tongue. Her delicious flavour lingered, just enough to sustain him without reminding him too much of the girl herself.

Lucius Malfoy told himself he had moved on. It had worked.

"The Dunstables and Moncrieffs are coming to dinner tonight. I hope you remembered?"

"Hmm," he drawled from behind the paper.

"You will be civil, won't you, Lucius? I find myself growing bored of having to make excuses for your anti-social impertinence."

Her husband did not give a vocal response. Narcissa did not see the cold stare over the top of the paper.

She sighed a little then left the room, calling after her. "I'll instruct the elves to make a start. They'll be here in three hours. The dining room is a shambles."

Geoffrey and Winifred Dunstable and Hamish and Ursula Moncrieff had been tacit supporters of Voldemort before the war. It was widely accepted that Geoffrey Dunstable had wanted to become a Death Eater, but had been rejected by Voldemort due to incompetence. Hamish Moncrieff had been too cowardly to have even offered. They now swore that they had been guided by parental indoctrination and always knew the error of their ways, but had been too terrified of Voldemort's wrath to swap loyalties. They seemed to have got away with it.

Lucius would never have called Dunstable and Moncrieff friends. It was their wives who seemed to provide the social ties. He would tolerate their presence tonight reluctantly.

As expected, the evening dragged. Everyone except Lucius seemed to imbibe vast quantities of alcohol and become increasingly obnoxious as the night wore on. Lucius found himself sickened by the behaviour of the supposedly well-bred purebloods around him.

_The Granger girl would not behave like this, would she?_

He shook the thought from his head.

"Do you see much of Potter, Malfoy? Been up to the Ministry lately? What's the self-righteous little prick up to these days?" Moncrieff drawled drunkenly into his glass.

"He's tipped to be head of the Auror department, I believe."

"Bugger that!" guffawed Dunstable. "All fame and no talent, that boy. Won't last a minute in a position of responsibility! He wouldn't have managed to do what he did if it hadn't been for Weasley and that Mudblood bitch – what was her name again?"

Lucius tensed and did not speak. He swirled the wine in his glass, staring intently at it.

Dunstable raised a bleary eye to him, waiting for an answer. He at last got it.

"Granger."

"That's right. Granger. Helena ... Harriet ... something like that."

"Hermione." Her name floated from his tongue onto the air around him. It took him by surprise.

"Ah yes ... that's the one ... fine little filly, despite having a dirty little Mudblood cunt. Still, that damn blood traitor Weasley's welcome to it."

Everyone around the table roared with laughter. Everyone, except Lucius.

The glass in his hand shattered.

He looked down at it. Blood was pouring from several deep gashes.

Moncrieff glanced over in alarm. "Steady on, old chap! Didn't think you were that rat-arsed!"

More laughter.

Lucius got up and left. He healed his wounds quickly with magic and went into the drawing room, unable to abide their company any longer.

He found himself pacing the room. Time and again, he walked from one side of the large chamber to the other, his breathing becoming increasingly heavy.

Then remembering himself, he stopped, stood straight and took a deep breath, before turning to leave.

He reached the door, placing his hand on the handle, but paused and crossed suddenly to the drinks cabinet. Taking out the whisky, he poured himself a large tumbler, and in one smooth action, threw its contents down his throat.

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Hermione's job at the Ministry settled into regular predictability. She enjoyed the respite from perpetual childcare, but could not say that she found her work wholly satisfying.

As much as she tried to deny it, the feelings of frustration started to build again. Her reaction to hearing about Malfoy in the meeting had scared her, and she had forced herself to bury her thoughts deep within. But the more she did so, the more tense she became, and in the weeks following the incident, she found herself snapping at her husband, taking shortcuts with her children's meals and bedtimes, and generally feeling more and more discontented.

She found herself in the Ministry, in Diagon Alley, searching over the heads of other people, seeing if she could catch a glimpse of him. She never did. Her time was limited and there were few opportunities to encounter him. In the lull between summer and winter, people busied themselves with their work, and therefore there were fewer functions and official parties than normal.

Hermione knew she was growing increasingly desperate. The glow which had followed her in the weeks after the encounter was fading, she knew it. And she knew what was needed to recapture it. She had managed at that time to avoid thinking of him personally, almost detaching his physical presence from his person. Now, his image, his face, his haughty individuality haunted her every waking moment.

She desperately wanted him again.

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Lucius Malfoy found himself in a very similar predicament.

Initially, he had moved on. He thought he had forgotten about the girl, or at least about his burning desire for her. But slowly, her taste had faded, try as he might to retain it. He had started drinking again.

And now, months after the night she had come to him, he found himself consumed with his desire once more. Desire, not only for her body, but to engage with her, talk to her, absorb her presence.

He resented it. Resented her. How dare this girl control him?

When alone, he often gave in to violent bouts of rage and temper, throwing objects against the wall, his body tense and brutal, passion caged within his rigid muscles. His magic was at its most powerful and darkest. It took the merest word, a look from someone, to spark him and have him reaching for his wand. He wondered at times if he would be able to contain it enough to remain out of Azkaban.

He had no choice in what he must do.

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One cold Wednesday in November, Hermione dropped her daughter off at school and her son at nursery and drove home. It was her day to herself. But, as usual, she found she had filled it up with trivial tasks she had been putting off for too long. Still, it had been nice to drive alone in the car, thinking over what she needed to do. She parked outside her house and grabbed her bag from the seat next to her, getting out and locking up. As she turned to go up the steps to her house she saw Lucius Malfoy standing a short distance down the road from her.

She stopped dead.

He was standing stock still in the middle of the pavement, staring at her. He held himself as tall as ever, but the haughty arrogance was completely absent.

Neither of them moved towards each other nor spoke. They remained several feet apart.

Hermione stood looking at him; she was not sure how long. Then she turned and walked regularly up the steps to her house. Unlocking it with a key, she turned the handle calmly and went inside. She left the door open.

Hermione went through to the kitchen. The front door closed with a click. Footsteps approached. She turned, her hands rising behind her to steady herself on the counter.

He came and stood before her, still maintaining distance between them.

She raised her eyes to his. His held a vulnerable quality she had never seen in him before. He spoke.

"I do not want to forget what you taste like."

She said nothing, and they remained simply standing before each other for some time. The clock ticked relentlessly on the wall and the dishwasher beeped to indicate its cycle had come to an end.

Hermione reached to her hip and undid the zip on her skirt, letting it fall to the ground. She stepped out of it, and pushed it aside with her feet. She was wearing no underwear. She parted her legs a little and leaned further back on the cabinet for support.

Almost immediately, Lucius fell to his knees before her.

His mouth had found her in an instant. Hermione looked down at the blond head so intent on its task. She reached down and, almost as in a blessing, placed her hands on his head and stroked his hair.

Lucius' tongue worked swiftly and adeptly. She could not suppress a muffled sob of long-suppressed need from breaking free as he circled her clit and thrust two fingers deep into her pussy. Again, he delighted in the juice dripping into his mouth and lapped eagerly at it, his own groans of satisfaction twisting her insides deliriously.

_How had she thought she could do without this? How had she ever imagined once would be enough? _

His mouth worked ever more ardently. Hermione's head fell back and she found herself sighing heavily into the domestic surroundings of her own kitchen.

"Oh god, oh god, don't stop, don't stop. I want it. _I want you_. So much, _so much."_

Her openness and abandonment once again brought out a feeling in Lucius that he could not identify. Not only was his cock throbbing with desire, something burned within him which fuelled him yet further. With supreme effort, he drew himself up to her mouth, needing to connect with it too, and kissed her violently. Hermione tasted herself on his tongue; she did not pull back.

"I can't do without it, I can't do without you. I need your pleasure." He groaned his words into her mouth, his fingers taking the place of his lips at her soaking pussy.

As much as she adored him talking to her, kissing her, Hermione needed his mouth back at her most vulnerable place, at her most tender, vital bud, tearing her apart, breaking her down. "Go back ... please, please, Lucius ... I want you back there ... make me come ... _God, please, make me come now."_

She was nearly delirious. With a grunt caught between lust and determination, Lucius sank back down, kissing and dragging himself over her still clad body as he went.

With both his hands he parted her folds and after another groan of satisfied longing, plunged his mouth back, encircling her swollen clit instantly.

Hermione almost screamed. Fingers were pushed inside her, curling around and finding that other secret spot. He rubbed hard. Hermione gripped the worktop, her eyes raised to the kitchen ceiling. It swam before them. She opened her mouth and gasped in a breath. Her body tensed.

"Oh god, Lucius, god, now, _it's now_."

Her mouth opened further and the air she drew in was accompanied by a shuddering sound of wonder.

His fingers stroked deliriously inside her and his mouth and tongue pulled and laved her clit.

She came.

Her limbs froze and the ball of tension which had started in her belly suddenly exploded, washing out and over her body in wave upon wave of fluid rapture. Her legs shook uncontrollably and could no longer support her. She slid down the cabinet, supported by it and the hand inside her. Sounds were pulled from deep within and her mouth hung open futilely.

Her orgasm transmitted itself to Lucius as if he himself was experiencing it. As with the last time, the pleasure he gained from experiencing her ecstasy in his mouth seemed almost enough. The physical manifestation of it had poured onto his tongue, and he had drunk it down desperately, realising only now how addicted he was to it, how he had denied his need for it too long.

When her body had at last relaxed, he pulled her into him and kissed her hard once again. She nearly wept. "Oh god, oh god, thank you, thank you. I can't do without you. I can't. Don't go, don't go."

He kissed her eyes, cheeks, mouth, throat. He could not remove his mouth from her body. She brought her hands to his head and held him there.

"Do you have time?" he managed to groan against her skin. The painful ache in his groin would need to be addressed at some point.

"Yes ... yes ... of course ..." Hermione had planned many things for the day. They would all be ignored.

"Shall I take you away from here?" His mouth still burned on her flesh.

She did not even consider it. "No ... no ... there's no time ... I need you inside me ..." With a great effort she stood. Then swiftly, grasping his hand and pulling him after her, she led him out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She took him to the spare room and immediately shed herself of her remaining clothes. He started to do the same, but after one look at her, naked before him, he could only manage to release his huge rigid cock from its confines before pushing her urgently onto the bed, pinning her legs behind his shoulders and ploughing deep inside her.

Immediately, his eyes rolled back in his head and a groan of pleasure rose out of him.

_Yes. This was it. _

He could not live without it.

He moved rapidly, as if possessed, the need for his own completion suddenly overriding all else.

"Fuck, fuck ... must have you ... _fuck_ ... so good ... so tight, you little mudblood slut ... _so fucking tight._ Feel me, _feel me_, do you ... _do you?"_

"Yes, yes, oh god, don't stop. Ever._ Don't ever stop_." She had heard his insult, but it was to her at that moment a pure erotic thrill. As his iron-hard cock plunged and thrust ever more brutally into her, hitting her g-spot perfectly in the position he was holding her, she knew she would abandon herself to him whenever he wanted, whenever she wanted. "Fuck ... oh fucking hell, Lucius. Yours ... _your mudblood slut_ ... know that ... know it. Come for me, _come into me ..."_

He could do nothing else.

Gripping her hips with painful force, he thrust his cock hard against her cervix, pushing her into the bed. His pleasure was torn from him in explosive bursts. His cry of exaltation sounded through her house as he shot his essence deep into her body. His mind blurred, oblivious to his surroundings. As his body continued to plough in and out of her, his hand reached over to her clit. It did not take long for Hermione to follow him, releasing her own pleasure. Her neck arched as her orgasm took her, her fingers flexing on the sheets, the rapture surging through her. She groaned loudly, flinging her head from side to side, consumed entirely by sensation.

They remained in bed in Hermione's spare room for as long as they could. Lunchtime came and went. They did not eat, they did not sleep. Their bodies hardly ever parted. Their ability to draw out and take pleasure from each other staggered them both, but at the same time seemed the most natural thing in the world.

As they lay recovering, she asked mildly, "How did you find out where I live?"

He smiled and kissed her hair. "A little subtle espionage at the Ministry, shall we say. It was not difficult."

"Did you know this was my day off, on my own?"

"That ... was simply fortuitous."

Her fingertips were moving over his torso, tracing patterns on it. "You should probably not come here again."

"No."

"But ... I will see you again."

"Yes."

"I must."

"Yes."

"The same day next week."

"Come to my house."

"Are you sure you are free?"

"I will ensure that I am."

She breathed deeply and kissed his breast, running her tongue over the small tight nipple. He inhaled sharply. Hermione began to apply herself more fervently, but her eye fell on the clock on the bedside table. "Shit! I've got to go. I'll be late for the school pick up."

She pulled herself off him and ran to the bathroom, giving herself a quick shower. Lucius lay still on the bed, a feeling of sudden desolation sweeping through him. He tensed against it, trying to ignore the unfamiliar sensation. His features flinched.

Hermione hurried out, shooting him a dazzling smile which unnerved him further. She ran the hairdryer over her hair for as long as she dared, and dressed haphazardly.

"Oh fuck! I've got to change the sheets. You'd better get up."

Lucius pulled himself heavily off the bed. "Where do you keep your clean bed linen?" She pointed to a drawer. With a flick of his wand, the dirty sheets flew off the bed into the laundry basket and clean ones emerged from the drawer and fell neatly onto the bed, where they tucked themselves into the mattress. The mundane task focused his mind and distracted him from the odd intensity of his emotions.

Hermione grinned at him. "Thank you."

He smirked back, reluctantly dressing himself.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, then over at him. He was just about ready. She went downstairs and heard him follow.

"Umm ... you'd better not leave through the front door."

"I'll apparate."

"OK." She suddenly felt awkward. "Bye then."

He said nothing, but grabbed her round the waist and pulled her into him, tearing her mouth open with a hot, hungry kiss. All awkwardness melted immediately. His mouth pulled away and travelled down her neck. "I will remember you, remember your taste, your pleasure ... I will not forget. I will be waiting ... a week ... only a week."

"Only a week, only a week ... not long ... it's not long ... is it?" She moaned into the hallway, trying to reassure herself.

Reality crashed into her mind. "Oh god, Lucius, I have to go, I have to. You must leave first, please, please. Goodbye, goodbye, go, you must go now." She sounded desperate, desperate as time pressed its urgency upon her, desperate that she must part from him.

With a groan of his own despair (he could feel himself rock hard once again), he pulled away from her, gazing into her eyes, then gripping his wand, he spun and disappeared.

Hermione initially reeled from his sudden absence, then remembering where she was, grabbed her car keys and hurried from the house.

**

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**Good boy, Lucius. You just carry right on! ;)**

**Let me know what you thought of this. xxx The button's right there ... see it? There it is ... clickety click!! (Sorry - in a weird mood - review if you wish, don't if you don't!) xxx**


	8. Chapter 8

**Again, I am behind on review responses - so sorry. Thank you thank you thank you, however. I am at a very busy time of year, and any free time I have seems to be taken up at the moment too, so I apologise for delays. I must say that I won't be able to update as regularly from now on, at least not as frequently as I have been. I am running out of pre-written chapters, and don't want to compromise the standard of this story, so I'm afraid you may have to wait a little longer for updates. Sorry!**

**Anyhow, ever onwards ... Enjoy. xxx**

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Lucius Malfoy could not get the taste and feel of Hermione out of his head and body.

Was that what he wanted?

It seemed to enable him to function as he needed. When he had been parted from her before, when he had forgotten the exquisite taste of her pleasure, her abandonment to him, his body and mind had reacted badly, and he had given in to the obvious solution. Now it seemed he knew he would have to maintain his addiction in order to live the way he wanted. Physically, he had never known anything so perfect. Her lips, her breasts, her velvet skin, her cunt ...

He inhaled deeply, and closed his eyes, seeing her intimate beauty before him, smelling it, tasting it ... surely she had been made for him? His hand instinctively came down to rub over his hardening cock.

He had not thought that at this stage in his life he would have such a sexual reawakening. He knew he was still in good condition, knew that the Mudblood girl was more than satisfied with him, but was still surprised to find himself quite so alive with sexual potency and need. He was not sure once a week would be enough.

Still, he had no desire for the relationship to become known to anyone. It would be amusing if Weasley found out, but that would inevitably mean his own wife and others would discover it. He did not want that. That would complicate things. He suspected Narcissa would not be terribly perturbed to discover he was seeing another woman, but to find out it was Hermione Granger ... no, that would be a step too far, he was sure. Although his marriage was dead in many respects, it was still a noble pureblood union. For the sake of his family name alone, he did not want it to end, certainly not through the discovery of an affair with a Mudblood. Still, now at least the girl could provide him with the excitement and sexual thrill he had not felt for so long.

The whisky remained firmly in the decanter, and Narcissa found her husband more amicable, even-tempered and patient than he had been for some time. On the occasions that her friends came around, he now stayed in the room with them for some time, even deigning to inquire after them briefly.

She wondered if he had taken a mistress.

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Hermione pushed Rose on the swing while Hugo careered down the slide time and time again. The bright white light of the November sun shone down on the crisp ground, the sun slowly melting the glistening frost on the cold metal of the climbing frame, giving it a magical quality which delighted Hermione.

It was Sunday afternoon. Ron was playing Quidditch. Hermione and the children were in the park.

It had been four days since Lucius had come to the house and it would be three days before she would see him again.

Wednesday.

She pushed Rose rhythmically back and forth.

Rhythm, pulse.

Her breathing fell into time with her pushes.

Rhythm, pulse.

She stared blankly ahead of her, her body taking over the regular pushes, bypassing her mind's awareness of them.

Rhythm, pulse.

All she could do was see him, feel him inside her. Regular strokes, her breathing heavy, deep, blood pumping around her. Push, push, push.

Rhythm, pulse.

Wednesday.

Three days.

She tried to ignore the throb between her legs.

She had almost grown resentful of it. Her sexual organs had become to her petulant children, constantly crying out for him, in need of attention all the time.

When she had become stimulated before, she had needed time to adjust, to come down. With Ron, she could never bear to have sex on consecutive days, let alone more than once a day. Now, her sexual need was constant. The more pleasure Lucius drew from her, the more she could take, the more her body craved.

She existed in what seemed to her a permanent adrenaline rush. Her body and mind were so primed, so alive, that she found herself fulfilling tasks more efficiently and effectively than ever before. The house was immaculate, the children were delighting in their newly exuberant mother, and her work was planned and prepared in good time, to her usual exacting standards. Ron, too, had noticed the difference.

Her sexual need was so great, that she now found herself initiating sex with him regularly. She kept herself quite detached during it, but ensured that they were both satisfied; she did not want him not to be. Hermione kept her eyes closed while her husband was making love to her, and knew that she was thinking of someone else, but still, she could do it quite happily, and with no guilt or remorse whatsoever.

It was curious to her why she felt no shame.

She loved her husband. She wanted to be with her husband.

Yet she was addicted to another man.

She knew she was not going to give up Lucius any time soon. She would collapse without him.

Her mental approach to the affair was oddly clinical. Lucius was essential. He was helping her marriage and her family. Therefore, there was no guilt.

This bizarre logical reassurance worked for Hermione.

But when she was with Lucius, the rational justification switched off. All she wanted was him, his body, his cock ... his mind ...

The inconsistency in approach was present, scratching away in some far corner of her brain.

She shook her head as Rose continued to soar into the air time and time again.

It must not be dwelt upon.

_Sex._

_Just sex._

Push.

_Great sex._

Push.

_Was it possible for the sex to be so incredible without a deeper connection?_

Push.

_Of course._

She recalled their initial meeting, the time in his library, at the concert. _Had that been all about sex?_

_Partially._

Push.

_And the other part?_

"Mummy! Stop! I've been swinging for ages. Please get me down now!"

Hermione was pulled back into reality. "Sorry, my darling, mummy was miles away." She slowed the swing gradually.

"You're not miles away, you're right there. You have been all the time."

Hermione laughed. "It's just an expression. It means my mind was thinking of something else which meant I wasn't focusing on what was going on around me."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing important, sweetheart."

Hugo ran up to them. "Want to do a poo!"

Hermione smiled as the throb within subsided. She could always rely on her children to bring her crashing down to earth. Holding their hands, the three of them skipped off to the toilets.

-------------------------------------------

She went into work on Monday. There was the usual start of the week meeting.

"Good morning, everybody," began Kingsley. "As you know, preparations for the World Cup to be held in the spring are well underway. I am satisfied that we are doing all we can to ensure a successful and safe tournament. Still, I must stress the importance of remaining vigilant. Although Dark forces have been successfully contained in this country for some time now, there are rumours of a resurgence in the Dark Arts in parts of central Europe."

Hermione listened intently. She felt a tingle within her, a sudden reminder of her old life. Kingsley continued.

"To be honest, I am being economical with the truth. Our Aurors have been hard at work infiltrating certain sects of wizarding covens in Bulgaria and Romania. We know for a fact that there are a handful of witches and wizards, previously loyal to Voldemort, who have reformed a group, shall we say, intent on continuing his name and deeds. There is one in particular, by the name of Kresvidyev, who has managed to become especially powerful in the last few months. He is under close surveillance, although has proved to be elusive at times."

Hermione glanced at Harry, who tensed his mouth and lowered his head.

"We have reason to believe that this group, led by Kresvidyev, are looking for an opportunity to ... launch themselves on the world, let's say. And we are concerned that the World Cup may be the opening they have been looking for. I can assure you that we are delighted with the work our security teams and Aurors have done to limit the potential for this wizard to infiltrate this country. We do not believe he has any links to anyone over here at this time. Of course, it will be far worse if he does. Still, we are satisfied that anyone we have concerns about is safely in Azkaban."

Hermione felt herself flushing slightly.

"All, I can say is, please be vigilant. I will be discussing additional security arrangements with you as it pertains to your department personally at a later date. Of course, all information I have imparted to you today must remain strictly confidential. Thank you.

"Now, onto the regulation of commercial premises in Knockturn Alley ..."

His voice droned on, but Hermione had not heard. Her body had been tingling ever since she had heard of Kresvidyev. It gave her a thrill she could not deny. At last, something to get excited about in the wizarding world. She looked across at Harry again and smiled excitedly. He seemed a little confused at her reaction, but returned the smile.

The meeting eventually broke up and Harry approached Hermione. "You look happy."

"Yes, it's exciting, don't you think? At last, something wicked this way comes!" She giggled.

Harry grimaced a little. "This man is bad news, Hermione. Let's just hope we can contain his activity in Europe and then take him out as soon as possible."

"Have you orders to kill him?"

He lowered his head. "I can't really talk about it, but, let's just say, we don't want him to become any more powerful."

Hermione's curiosity was piqued. "Why haven't you mentioned this before?"

"It's strictly confidential, Mione. The fewer people who know about it, the better. You understand that."

"Of course ... sorry. Sounds as if it may make my life more exciting anyway!"

He smiled. "It's nice to see you happy. Is being back at work going well for you? You've been a lot more ... well, radiant recently, I have to admit."

"Yeah ... life's good ... in fact, life's bloody good!" she beamed, heading for the door. "Coffee?"

He laughed at her exuberance and followed her out.

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Tuesday was Hermione's day off with Hugo. She had a great time with her son at a model railway exhibition. While no one was looking, she charmed one of the trains to look exactly like the Hogwarts Express and giggled to herself as she watched it rushing round the track, its engine painted red and puffs of steam emerging from its funnel. She even changed a platform sign to read, '9 ¾'.

As the day wore on, she noticed her excitement levels rising. She picked Rose up from school in such an giddy mood that the other mothers looked at her in amazement. She merely smiled at them and swept her children away.

She could not bring herself to have sex with her husband that night, but luckily he was tired and did not notice her lack of interest, falling asleep quickly.

Hermione lay in bed silently, her body awakening for the next day. She ran her hands over her naked flesh, stopping between her legs to feel her expectant clit. It jolted at her touch as if to say, I am ready, fulfil me. Hermione closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep, knowing that it would carry her swiftly to the morning.

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Lucius Malfoy had gone for a walk early on Wednesday morning. He found himself in the streets of muggle London before most people were up. Coming across an early morning street market, he bought a large selection of flowers, spending a fortune on the most expensive blooms. Even the trader felt guilty at the cost of the bouquet, but was not going to argue with the imposing blond man in front of him.

Lucius returned to his home, and with a wave of his wand, the flowers arranged themselves perfectly in a large vase. He placed it in a front window and waited.

He noticed a prickle along his skin, a sensation he was unfamiliar with, but knew to be anticipation, excitement even. He had only ever felt that before when he knew the Dark Lord was approaching, or when about to perform a task for him. He paced into the kitchen and poured a large coffee, trying to distract himself. But his body was so primed that he underestimated his surge in strength and the coffee sloshed out onto his hand.

_Fuck._

The girl must come soon.

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Hermione dropped off her children. Her hands were shaking so much as she got into her car after Hugo had gone into nursery that she could hardly start the engine.

_Should she go straight there?_

She knew she would, knew she had to, despite not wanting to appear too desperate.

The car started and she drove off. She could park somewhere and apparate. That would be quicker.

Still, she managed to drive through the busy London streets, trying to calm her mind and body as she went.

She reached St James' Gardens. It was residents' only parking, but Hermione conjured a permit which looked identical to the others and left it in the car.

Her body was trembling again, her clit aching with need. She glanced at herself in the mirror, applying a simple lip balm and mascara, then got out of the car and walked up the steps to his door. She noticed the beautiful bouquet in the window and smiled, knowing it was for her.

Without hesitation, she rang the bell and heard it sound within.

Footsteps approached immediately and the door was opened smoothly.

Her belly lurched on seeing him. He looked down from his familiar lofty position, but could not hide the slight smile on his lips. Lucius stepped aside and she walked in.

Immediately the door was shut, he spun her around and pushed her against it, her back to him. She was sandwiched between him and the door, her head pressing against the wood.

She could feel him already pressing into her back and her desire dripped from her, dampening her thighs. She let out a soft moan, but the atmosphere was so tense with lust, that any sound seemed wrong and she bit her lip so stifle any further cries.

His mouth was at her neck, sucking, kissing, biting the tender flesh. One hand had pulled her top up and released a breast from within the bra cup. His thumb and fingers squeezed and plied the soft flesh, rolling the nipple between them.

Hermione needed him more than she thought possible. She struggled not to weep with longing. His other hand pushed her skirt over her hips and moved her legs apart. One finger swept over her wet folds, briefly making contact with her clit. She jerked against him but managed to remain silent. She heard the noise of belt and clasps being released and then felt hard smooth moist flesh rubbing against her rump.

Squeezing her eyes tight shut, she fought to contain her anticipation. _Oh god, oh god, please, please, now._

Lucius' mouth was at her ear, his breath hot and desperate. He wanted her so badly it was agony. He bit her ear lobe hard, causing an involuntary cry which she swallowed back into her.

His hand lifted her leg and he bent himself at the knee, raising her up as much as possible.

She felt him. He pushed exquisitely inside her, inch by inch moving up into her smooth wet sheath, encasing him, squeezing him, tightening around him. He exhaled slow and long as she sank deeper onto his engorged length.

He was fully inside. Hermione's eyes opened wide in surprised wonder. The sudden switch from driving in London traffic to this was unfathomable.

He paused in his movements. His breath was at her ear, his skin pressed against her cheek. She smelt him heavy upon her senses.

Then he began to move once more. He withdrew from her as much as he dared then pushed smoothly back up. The head of his cock rubbed against the tender place deep within her. She squeezed her eyes shut again to concentrate on the tightening inside. The hand at her breast had abandoned it and moved down between her thighs. He started low and walked his fingers up the damp skin to the spot he knew she wanted him. She bit her lip harder in a pointless attempt to stop any sound emerging. She could not. A muffled groan floated up into the hallway, echoing off the door.

He stopped dead, as aware as she of the sublime silence that had existed between them.

Hermione dared not breathe. She could feel his cock pulsing within her, the heat of his hand hovering over her clit. _Please, please move._

At last he did. His smooth regular strokes along her tight walls started again and his fingers parted her, stroking, gathering her juices, circling the swollen nub at the top. _So close._

He moved more fervently now, a desperate effort needed to silence his own cries. His cock was being milked of pleasure by this hot tight mudblood pussy and he felt his balls screaming for release. Her body shivered against him, although her skin was burning. His tactile fingertips rubbed around her swollen clit and he pushed harder and harder along her, her body caught between him and the door.

Lucius could stand no more. His balls tightened inexorably and the tension gripped his body before the fall. He pushed up against her cervix and came.

His seed forced its way high up into her over and over, and his limbs shook against her, his hot breath of release caught in her ear, the only sound he made.

After a moment of absorption, he began moving again, plying the flesh around her clit at the same time. She was primed, her muscles tensed with needle points of expectation. His cock, still remarkably hard, rubbed against her g-spot and he brought his finger suddenly over her clit.

Her body dissolved.

Pleasure washed through her. She felt her orgasm travel like lightning from her centre, sweeping through to capture even her fingertips and her toes. He held her tight, pressing her against the wooden door, or else she would have collapsed. The rapture denied her coherent thought.

They remained in that position for some time, his strong body pushing her hard against the cold wood. She did not mind.

At length, he softened too much to remain inside her in the position they were in, and as he fell out, he picked her up smoothly and carried her up the stairs, just as he had the first time.

He laid her on the bed, still in silence, and undressed her, his eyes not moving from the body revealed to him.

He then removed his own clothes and lay beside her.

They were on their sides facing each other, not speaking or touching, just staring.

Hermione delighted in it. His eyes were the most profound grey. She looked deep into them, seeing the shift towards blue near the pupil, the other colours flecking the irises. What lay behind them? She could not decide if she was desperate to know, or desperate not to know. She dared not think too much on it.

And he, faced with her deep brown orbs of intelligence. He swallowed hard. His chest tightened. He moved his eyes down to her mouth; her eyes were almost too much to bear.

He had never known such an exquisite thing as her mouth. Her lips were red with sated lust, damp and full, parted a little to allow her sweet breath to escape.

As he gazed at them they moved into a smile. He was reminded of his reaction the last time she had smiled at him. It was disturbing. It was again now, but he did not flinch away from it.

Hermione noted his fascination with her mouth. She stretched her legs. His seed had trickled out of her a little and was coating the inside of her upper thighs. Almost without thinking, she reached down between them and caught some of his essence on her fingers. She brought it up and looked at it, rubbing it between her fingers. Then moving her eyes to his, she put her fingers in her mouth and sucked.

His eyes narrowed. The mudblood was sublime.

Slowly, he brought his own hand down to gather up some more from her legs and then moved the finger up. He pulled her mouth open, gazing inside. Her tongue flitted out, causing him to exhale, and he pushed the cum covered finger between her lips.

She glanced at him, a slight hesitation in her eyes, then closed her lips around the finger and sucked hard.

"Taste."

It was the first word either of them had spoken all morning. She smiled, swallowing him. Immediately, she hungered for more, knew she would have to keep returning to this man, taking him, absorbing him. It was the only way.

She nestled against him.

"Have you finalised the arrangements for the music at the World Cup?" It was asked with a smirk.

He raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. "How do you know about that?"

"I'm on the security committee for the event. Shacklebolt mentioned your name in a meeting the other day."

"Did he manage not to curse me in the same breath?"

She smiled. "He was remarkably magnanimous. You seem to have reformed yourself entirely in the eyes of the establishment." She watched him carefully to see how he'd react to her statement. He did not.

"And do you believe I have reformed myself entirely?"

His question surprised her, not least because she realised suddenly that she did not know the answer. She reminded herself that several months ago she had hated him with a passion, still believed him to be evil and capable of the most heinous crimes, precipitated merely by prejudice and bigotry. And now, she was lying naked beside him, the taste of his seed still strong in her mouth.

In the time they had come together, she had not once questioned how she felt about his past, but had simply accepted that she needed him. The answer to his question was suddenly clear to her.

"I don't care."

Something inside Lucius twisted violently. He brought his eyes away from hers, unable to bear her honesty. The surge inside was unfamiliar and disturbing.

The mudblood leaned over to him, kissing him softly. He could taste himself on her still, but her kiss was so nourishing that he opened deeply to her, allowing her tongue to sweep around his mouth. He slipped his own tongue into her, bringing his hand to her hair and pushing her hard against him, his teeth grazing her lips, drawing blood. She cried out a little but pressed against him ever harder. Hermione moved herself over his body, feeling him engorged and swollen yet again, crying out for her. Her mouth still burned with the memory of his taste.

She broke off suddenly from his mouth and kissed her way down his torso.

Lucius looked down as her head descended, the twist inside him shifting into undiluted desire and anticipation. He allowed his mind to question briefly how long it had been since somebody had taken him in their mouth. _Too long. Too ridiculously fucking long._ Narcissa had given up doing so before their son was born. She had only ever done it on sufferance.

His cock swayed towards Hermione, pre-cum dripping constantly from the tip.

Lucius groaned out, a groan of deep and profound expectation.

Hermione positioned herself between his legs, able to look up at him. She smiled, licking her lips subconsciously, although it was not lost on Lucius, and moved her head down.

At the first contact of her lips, he had to look away, or he would come immediately.

_Fuck. He used to be so controlled._

He knew this first time would be over too soon.

Her slight hands, remarkably strong and warm, grasped his lower length, squeezing the rigid flesh. Her mouth closed around the head, it almost filled her. She pulled at it, her tongue running along the slit. He arched up uncontrollably, pushing more of his length into her. It was too much, but she did not pull back, forcing herself to relax and take it. Her mindset shifted, and instead of the revulsion she normally experienced with her husband, she welcomed the intrusion into her most personal and sensitive place. She was holding more of him in her mouth than she had ever done with anyone before. His size amazed and entranced her equally, and her desire to pleasure him and take him overrode any concerns she may have had.

Her hands squeezed and pumped harder, one coming away to cup his balls, her thumb rubbing over the tightening flesh. Her head moved up and down, her lips dragging over him, her tongue sweeping the tip, gathering up the pre-cum with each pass.

Lucius could not think. The mudblood's mouth was driving him towards oblivion, he was sure of it. He was not sure he would return. It brought a feeling almost of panic to him, but the pleasure coursing through his body quashed it. He gazed down at her. Her eyes raised to his as her mouth sank over the head hard one final time. He felt her hot little tongue lick over his slit and his face creased with ecstasy.

His hands threw themselves onto her head, holding her down on him hard. He exploded into her mouth, shooting desperately against the back of her throat. Hermione tried to pull up a little, to capture his essence before it all dripped down her, but found herself unable to due to his pressure on the back of her head.

Still, she felt the bursts in her mouth. She closed her eyes. His hands relaxed as his spasms subsided, and she moved up, releasing him tenderly. She had been able to contain much of his release in her mouth and felt it swirling around her, thick and creamy.

She savoured it, taste, texture, sensation. Before, the whole process had disgusted her, but now, with him, it was nectar itself. She questioned briefly what had altered in her perception.

_Little mudblood slut._

She glanced up. His face was set in an expression of wonder, the grey eyes open, the firm lips parted to draw in breath.

_His little mudblood slut. Yes._

_Yes._

No shame. No remorse.

She swallowed the remaining fluid thirstily and moved back up to lie close to him.

She rested on his chest and felt him draw his arm around her, stroking her hair.

Would he thank her? It seemed appropriate, although she did not expect it.

He did not.

But Lucius Malfoy had not spoken a thank you, not because he did not wish to, but because he was incapable of doing so. He had been so overwhelmed by her actions that he was struggling to contain his emotions. If he had spoken, they would have been betrayed.

It was a relief when she came to lie on his chest and he could no longer look at her.

He bent his head down and planted a kiss on her hair.

She smiled.

It was enough.

* * *

**Deeper and deeper ...**

**What did you think? xxx**


	9. Chapter 9

**Here at last! Thank you for all the lovely reviews. I am so sorry I have not responded yet. I will try to do so, but I am finding life so busy at the moment. I have hardly been able to write new chapters - this one is one of the last I have completed. Please bear with me in the next few weeks. I dearly want to write and get back to my readers, but it is simply impossible. Sorry! Please do not think I do not read and appreciate ALL your comments. Without them, the inspiration would simply dry up, believe me.**

**So - quite a lot of thinking in this chapter. I'd just like to point out that this is written largely from Hermione and Lucius' POV, not the author's. A lot of what is written is their thoughts, which begs the question - how well do they know their own minds?**

**Enjoy! xxx**

* * *

They stayed in bed for some time, looking at each other, touching, tasting, joining.

Apart from the moments her children were born, Hermione could not recall a time of such complete bliss.

Lucius Malfoy felt much the same, although was unable, or reluctant, to recognise the emotion.

Lunchtime approached, and Hermione felt a twinge of hunger. The man beside her seemed to sense her need.

"Come. We'll go downstairs, have something to eat."

She smiled at him and got up. She started to dress in her clothes, but he reached into his wardrobe and tossed one of his shirts at her. "You can wear that." She smiled. It was a fine shirt from a muggle tailor. Hermione was surprised to find anything made by muggle hands in his possession, although she remembered the Turner hanging in the room downstairs. Perhaps he wasn't as bigoted as she thought.

She put the shirt on, delighting in the feel and smell of it – entirely him. It hung almost down to her knees due to the style of long shirttails. She rolled the cuffs up and left the top two buttons undone. When she had finished she glanced up to find him staring at her with a satisfied smile.

She smirked. "Will that do, sir?" she asked coquettishly.

He came over and looked down at her, running his hands lightly up her arms. Leaning over, he planted a tender but sensual kiss on her lips and moved away, pulling on his night robe before walking from the room.

Hermione's smile broadened and she followed him down the stairs.

They went into the kitchen. Hermione was once again surprised by how homely it was.

"I love this kitchen."

"Hmm. It is adequate."

"More than adequate! You should see mine. It seems to be permanently swamped in brightly coloured plastic plates, bowls of pasta and piles of washing!"

He smirked. "I have seen yours."

She blushed. How could that moment have slipped her mind? It was odd now. In her mind, she could no longer imagine them existing outside his house.

"Oh yes," she mumbled. She smiled up in embarrassment. "Shall I cook something for lunch?" She was used to doing so.

"I thought I would."

Her mouth dropped open. Ron couldn't even boil an egg. She had never imagined Lucius in any domestic situation, let alone cooking.

"Uhh ... yes ..." she laughed. "That would be great."

He glanced at her with amusement. "You seem surprised."

"No! I mean I ... didn't ... well ... yes, I suppose I am. I assumed you had house elves to cater for all your needs."

"We do at the Manor. And it is true, I normally dine out when in London, but I discovered long ago the satisfaction of producing a fine dish. It focuses the mind and feeds the soul, as well as the body."

She smiled, watching him as he moved around the kitchen fluidly, assembling ingredients and utensils. He paused momentarily and glanced around at her with a raised eyebrow. "Having said that, do not get your hopes up. I am hardly a Michelin-starred chef."

She laughed at his qualification. There were chinks in the armour after all.

Lucius cooked efficiently and smoothly, making a simple mushroom omelette for them both. Hermione ate it with relish, and complimented him genuinely on his culinary skills.

"It is only an omelette," he shrugged.

"Yes; one of the most deceptive things to get right. You have got it right."

He smiled silently, not looking up.

It had filled him with great satisfaction to cook for someone else for a change. And the mudblood had been suitably appreciative. Her genuine sentiments once again filled him with a warmth he was unused to. It was almost as satisfying as being inside her.

He stiffened a little, trying not to think too hard about it.

As she ate, Hermione felt it was time to broach the subject of the concert. She had been wanting to discuss it for a while.

"Why did you choose the Schubert that evening?"

"You know why."

"I would like to hear you say it."

"It is a supremely erotic piece of music."

Pause.

"Did you think the great and good of the Quidditch world needed an evening of eroticism?"

"No. I thought you did."

She looked at him. He held her gaze. She knew it to be true, but his frank admittance of his deliberate seduction startled her. She tensed, suddenly reminded of his calculating personality. She pictured herself striking him the first time she had come to him. She almost wanted to do it again.

Since that first time, she had not once questioned the relationship and who it was with; had never felt guilty about it.

She was sleeping with Lucius Malfoy.

Why did her mind allow her no doubt?

Her desire to hit him passed swiftly. It would achieve nothing. If anything, it would merely fuel their desire for each other. She questioned him on it.

"The first time I came here, I hit you."

"Several times."

"Did you mind?"

"You would have noticed if I had."

"Did you like it?"

"I liked to see you succumbing before me, allowing all your fortitude to dissolve."

She stiffened again. Surely she should be angry with him for his presumptuous arrogance? But as hard as she tried, she could not summon any malice towards him.

"Are you always this honest?"

"I try to be. However, there have been times in my life, as well you know, when I have had to lie almost perpetually. It was most tiresome."

She looked at him, her face straight. He glanced up, cocking an eyebrow. She did not like to be reminded of who he had been, who he still possibly was.

"Are you so honest with ..."

Hermione stopped, suddenly aware that Narcissa had never been mentioned by either of them. But he finished her sentence for her.

"My wife?"

"Yes."

"Usually, although I find I do not talk to her as often as I used to."

Hermione understood why she was here with him now, but had never really thought about his reasons for adultery. He too must be dissatisfied with his life, his marriage. It made her strangely uneasy. He was being remarkably open with her, something she appreciated, but she now wished to terminate the discussion.

"May I see your library again?"

"Of course."

The glow inside Lucius grew. He stood quickly and held her chair back for her.

"Thank you for a lovely lunch." She reached up and kissed him.

_Warmth._

Hermione reached for the plates to clear the table. He held her arm to stop her. "Leave it. What is the use of being a wizard if it cannot aid us in the tedium of domestic routine?"

With a wave of his hand the table cleared and the dirty dishes flew into the dishwasher, which immediately set itself and started its cycle.

She smirked. "Strange. I rarely do that at home. Somehow, I feel like I'm cheating if I do."

"Then you are a fool."

Hermione looked at him in shock. His brutal words pained her. But instead of anger, she found herself saying, "Yes, I suppose I am."

Lucius stared down at her. This girl had a remarkable open strength. It stirred him once again. He leaned down and kissed her, her mouth delightful in its soft tenderness. Then taking her hand, he led her up the stairs to the library.

Hermione was rendered speechless as she entered the room, the quantity of books alone overwhelmed her.

"How long do you have?"

His words filled her with a sudden sense of dread; dread that she would have to leave this place. As much as she longed to see her children again, even wanted to see Ron again, she did not want the feeling she had now to end.

"What time is it?"

"Only one o'clock."

She was relieved. She still had two hours. "I don't need to go until three."

"Well then. Take your time. Do you wish me to leave you?"

She spun to him. "No! I mean ... you may do as you wish, but ... don't leave on my account."

He smiled and settled himself on a chair, simply watching her. Hermione began to peruse the bookshelves, occasionally taking down a volume and studying it carefully, thinking aloud as she mused on its contents. Her intelligence and knowledge staggered him. He had never come across another witch or wizard like it. Her thirst for intellectual rigour reminded him of himself in school. He had tried to instil it in Draco, but knew he had failed.

And now, this girl, this mudblood who had foiled his pursuits so often before, who was partially responsible for his sojourn in Azkaban, standing in his library clad only in his shirttails, utterly absorbed in his possessions. He did not know whether to be repulsed or entranced. He opted for the latter.

Again, the fire within ignited, and he knew it would have to be addressed. He could think of no better place to do so. The girl had sat at the table, studying a book. He approached her, stroking her hair out of her face. She smiled up at him before returning to the book.

Lucius knelt before her, running his hands up her legs, parting them. Hermione looked down in surprise, but did not stop him. She opened her legs further and allowed him to do as he needed. She continued to read the book.

Lucius was soon lapping at her. He was soft and delicate, comforting as much as anything. He simply adored being at her sex, exposing her, exposing his own vulnerability. Hermione brought her hand down and stroked his head, while continuing to read.

They remained like that for an age. Occasionally, she would turn away from her book and focus on the blond head before her and the sensations his tongue was drawing from her. He would sense her concentration and increase his efforts, ensuring he brought her to a climax. It would release itself like the flutter of a hundred butterflies within her.

He did not stop there, however, and remained between her legs, sucking her in. He did not work forcefully, no man would have had the stamina, but he licked and grazed constantly, never wanting to leave the sublime place.

To anyone coming upon them, the scene may have been one of revulsion, disgusting and debasing, but to the two of them, it was life itself, essential to their relationship and happiness.

Hermione lost track of how many times she came, yet not with the mind-shattering orgasms she had experienced earlier with him, she could not have survived that, did not want it. They were simply a release of beauty, fulfilling a deep need. Lucius did not need to climax himself, Hermione understood that now. His pleasure in absorbing her at her most open was enough.

Finally, over an hour after they had arrived in the library, Hermione put her books to the side and turned to him, leaning down and kissing him deep, intrigued by the taste of herself on him. She lowered herself to the floor, and lay before him. She knew his entering of her was not essential, but wanted it nonetheless, for her and for him.

He obliged, quickly pushing his engorged erection fully into her. She revelled in the fullness he wrought, but wanted to give only to him, and held back on her own pleasure. Lucius came quickly. He could not remember such a tender coupling, despite the girl not climaxing.

He lay atop her, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?"

"You didn't come."

Hermione laughed. "Maybe not then, but I think you made up for it earlier." She stroked his hair. He found it remarkably soothing. He did not want her to stop.

"It's not always about earth-shattering orgasms you know. I adore just having you inside me, especially after what you did for me."

"What _you_ did for _me_."

"You like that, don't you?" She was stating the obvious.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It is you."

"A filthy mudblood?"

Pause.

"Yes."

"Surely that throws up an insurmountable paradox?"

He was silent.

"You still hate muggles and muggle-borns?"

"Yes."

"And yet you take from, and give to, a mudblood at her most exposed and your most vulnerable?"

He sighed. "I admit I do not fully comprehend it. But I know that I need it. I need you. I can have you here, away from the rest of my life."

The brutality of his honesty made her tense, but she realised his sentiment was no different to her own. She compartmentalised her life in exactly the same way. He did not exist to her outside the walls of his home, but she knew equally that if she did not have him here, she could not cope outside.

"I hate everything you stand for. I hate pureblood indoctrination, I hate the descent into darkness in order to fulfil your ideals. I hate what you did to me and my friends. But when I am here, I forget all that. In this house, none of it matters. Only you and I matter."

_In this house, I think I am falling in love with you. _She thought it, but did not say it out loud.

"Outside it, I try to pretend you do not exist. It seems to work." She spoke strangely factually.

"Yes. Then we have somehow resolved the paradox."

"Or simply ignored it."

They lay in silence, still utterly content, despite the honesty of their words. They knew they understood each other.

"I'd better get ready to go. May I use your shower?"

"You don't need to ask."

She kissed him and he raised himself, slipping out of her. Hermione almost wept.

She stood, and looked back at him. "I love your shirt."

"It suits you."

She smiled, removing the shirt and leaving it on a chair, and went up to the shower.

As the water tumbled over her, she thought about the strange situation she found herself in.

Within the walls of this house, she could forget who he was, who she was, forget their past, even their present. Lucius behaved utterly impeccably towards her here, from the pleasure she received from his body, to his conversation and hospitality. It struck her, that if she had met a younger version of him before marrying Ron, and he presented himself only as he did now, she would have considered him a suitable life partner.

And there it was. Yes, her life had needed more, yes, she had been driven to an affair. But why did it have to be _him_? Despite the fact that they had reconciled it in their minds, the question remained of why they had chosen each other. There were other people they could have seen. Hermione reluctantly admitted that is was namely because of their polar opposite beliefs and approach to life, because of who they had been, what they had done, that they had come together. The dichotomy of that brought an undeniable excitement to the already illicit nature of their relationship. They were both tapping into that side of themselves that they had never wished to confront. And here, in the house, treating each other as equals, with respect and tolerance, it was a way of ... _what_ ... making amends? Self-discovery? Succumbing to urges that could not be relieved elsewhere?

And forgetting who he was for a moment, she thought merely on the fact that she was cheating on her husband. She hardly felt that she could call it such. She allowed herself a moment to question her apparent lack of morals in the matter. She realised that her mind had rationalised the affair as being beneficial, essential even, to the survival of her marriage, of her sanity. And as such, she did not question its validity, or the need for it, at all. Sleeping with Lucius Malfoy was helping her relationship with her husband. And Ron need never find out.

The water continued to pour onto her. Her mind would not rest. It threw an uncomfortable question at her. _Had her love for Ron ever felt like this?_ She was not sure that it had. She shook her head hard, sending water flying from it, trying to expel the thoughts with it. She could not entirely. She did not question the validity of her marriage or her desire for it to continue, but her relationship with Lucius had revealed the deep flaws in it.

And what of her lover? Why was he cheating on his wife of so many years? She had not thought through his motivation. She was not sure she could find any answers to her questions. Despite his passion and intellectual depth, Lucius remained a closed book, an enigma. She could not dig too deep. She knew that she would not like what she would find if she did. She was prepared for it, but it was easier not to know.

Hermione realised she had been in the shower for too long. She hurried out and dried and washed quickly. It was nearly three o'clock. She would never allow this relationship to interfere with the well-being of her children. But a ball of lead was churning in the pit of her stomach at the thought of leaving him. She tried to ignore it. The week would pass quickly, and she had happy times with her family to look forward to.

Hermione returned to the library. Lucius was sitting in the chair she had occupied. She smiled across at him. "I have to go."

He did not respond, but stared back at her.

She saw his shirt, the one she had been wearing, lying over the back of a chair. She picked it up, bringing it to her face, and inhaling deeply. It was almost as if he himself was holding her. She could take it, hide it away in the back of a drawer at home, and bring it out, smell it, hold it, breathe it in, breathe him in.

"Take it."

She spun to him. He had seemed to know her thoughts. It was not surprising.

She stood for a while, studying him, considering his words. Then she returned the shirt to the back of the chair.

"You know that I won't."

He did not respond immediately. "I do not exist to you outside this house." He confirmed their mindset.

"That's right." She sighed imperceptibly. "As I do not exist to you outside of here either."

Silence. Lucius thought over her words. The concept of considering her as anything other than a mudblood whore at the Manor or elsewhere could not be contemplated.

"Of course not."

She turned to him, her face straight. "There we are then."

She finished getting dressed.

"Shall I come next week?"

"Don't ask such a ridiculous question."

Again, he had spoken abruptly, rudely, but she did not mind.

"The same time then."

"Of course."

She turned to go.

"Wait!" His voice was remarkably insistent. She turned back to him. He was holding out a hand to her. She walked over. He took her hand, turned it over so that the palm was facing up, and planted a warm full kiss on it. He then kissed up her arm until he reached her head, pulling her down towards him all the while. His other hand came up to cup her face and he parted her lips with his own, slipping his tongue inside and mingling with hers.

When he at last pulled back, he rested his forehead on hers. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Lucius."

This time, she did manage to turn and walk from him, although the agony she experienced as she closed the door of his house surprised her with its intensity.

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As Lucius Malfoy sat in the chair she had inhabited in his library, he suddenly became aware of the house seeming very empty. His time with the mudblood girl had been deeply satisfying, he was not afraid to admit it, and he knew it would keep him content for the week. He had treated her with respect and tenderness, something that he was quite happy to do. Within his house he treated her as he would the most noble pureblood witch. He wanted to.

He knew that her personal history and circumstances were part of the attraction, part of his need to connect so viscerally with that most intimate part of her. But it confused him. Why should an act which should, with a mudblood, be repellent to him, be quite the opposite?

He had not questioned it, as his need for it was so clear. He knew he had to do it, and therefore he did.

True, he had thought once would be enough. When it wasn't, it had been unfortunate, but he now enjoyed the times they were together more than anything.

He still loathed mudbloods. Indeed, the thought of the girl's interference in his missions in the past, her fervent desire to do good, still sickened him when he recalled it, but when she was in his house, naked in his arms, when he was imbibing her very being, she was as vital to him as the air he breathed.

_Why?_

Why had the desire not subsided after the first time?

Why did this girl continue to hound and torment his thoughts? His body? His soul?

Lucius tried to summon resentment towards her, but rubbing his lips together, he could still taste her. Something bubbled inside. It was certainly not resentment.

At length he rose and went into the front reception room. The portrait of his father was glaring down at him with utter contempt. Lucius returned the sneer.

"You haven't had her. If you had, you would be no different. She is delicious perfection."

The portrait drew itself up coldly.

Lucius stared at it for a moment, then suddenly stood on a table and lifted the picture forcefully from the wall, bearing it out without glancing at the image again. He strode harshly towards a door leading to the basement and flung it open. Lucius took the portrait to a dusty store room at the back of the basement floor and leaned it, painting side, against the wall. Then, dusting his hands off, he returned upstairs.

He stood in his hallway, listening to the quiet of the house. The clock beside him ticked deeply, the cellar stairs creaked in adjustment to the footsteps which had just trodden on them.

Again, he knew the house was empty. It also seemed colder than it had when she had been there. He twitched.

_Mudblood._

What was happening to him? To his beliefs, his ideals?

He grimaced.

He knew he could not do without her, but the direction his life was taking filled him with unease.

Could he continue as he was?

He stood for a time in tense solitude. Then inhaling sharply, he gathered his belongings, picked up his cane, and swept from the house, leaving its cold emptiness behind him.

--------------------------------------------

Several weeks passed.

Every Wednesday, Hermione would arrive at Lucius' house as soon as she had dropped the children off. Their bodies would join almost immediately, and would remain so for much of the day. But amidst the pleasure they would read, listen to music, talk.

They got on. He even made her laugh. His dry wit had her, on occasion, flinging her head back and laughing hysterically. Ron had never been able to do that. His puerile humour rarely raised a titter.

When the sound of Hermione's laughter filled his house, Lucius Malfoy felt more at peace than at any time he could recall.

His wife did not laugh at his humour; he had given up bothering to try with her. The mudblood seemed to appreciate his natural conversation and had tapped into his intellect faster than anyone he had ever come across. The times they spent in his library, discussing a book together, or a particular aspect of magical lore, gave him more satisfaction than he had had for an age.

It would not be long before he would kneel before her, sipping from her once again, or pulling her down to the floor before him to plunge into her depths. He now knew that he could not live without it.

But he could still separate it from his other existence.

Of that he was sure.

----------------------------------------------

Hermione did not once question the duplicitous nature of her life. She was completely happy. Her relationship with Lucius fulfilled all the needs she was not getting from her own marriage and existence, and made her able to live exuberantly and contentedly at home.

She wondered on it, and would occasionally stop, remind herself that she was sleeping with Lucius Malfoy, and force herself to try to summon up some shame or guilt. She could not.

She knew that if this relationship had not presented itself, she could not have continued in her marriage as it was. Something would have given, and she feared the consequences would have been far worse than they were now.

It was, if truth be told, the fact that it was Lucius Malfoy that enabled her to continue unencumbered by guilt. Because he was such an unlikely person for her to be associating with, it somehow distanced him further from her other life. She knew he had no desire for their relationship to be revealed, and they existed solely in their little Wednesday Kensington bubble.

As she realised before, she did not think of his life outside their meetings. He treated her so beautifully when with her, that his past, his beliefs, his dubious ethical code, were invisible to her. For all she knew, he was still involved in questionable dealings, but as long as they did not encroach on her, she could pretend they did not exist.

She needed him or she would go mad. SHe knew it. Her children needed a strong, happy mother. She would continue.

------------------------------------------

Hermione sat, bored as ever, in the usual Monday morning meeting. She had spent the time thinking of the last time Lucius had been inside her. It had alleviated the tedium. She was just picturing his head descending to her left nipple, when she was jolted out of her reverie by Shacklebolt's voice.

"Hermione? Are you alright? Could I see you in my office for a moment, please?"

"Sorry, Kingsley." She shook herself out of her daydream reluctantly. "I'll be right there."

She rose and followed him out of the room, heading towards his office.

"Thanks, Hermione. Shut the door please, and have a seat."

Hermione did so.

Kingsley took a while to start speaking. He looked serious. Hermione felt uneasy. Did he know something? Something about her? Her mind blurred and her pulse raced.

"Hermione. Do you recall I mentioned a few weeks ago about a wizard in Eastern Europe called Kresvidyev?"

"Yes." Her mind eased.

"We were hopeful to be able to keep him contained on the continent, where he seemed to be accumulating support and funds to propagate his Dark Pureblood beliefs, all in the name of Voldemort. He has even gone so far as to proclaim himself his successor. Our Aurors, including Harry, have been hard at work to limit his influence, and have been largely successful. But, unfortunately, in the past week, we have had intelligence to suggest that he may have gained a foothold in this country."

"Really?" Her interest was piqued.

"Yes. This is a gravely serious matter. This wizard is growing more powerful, cleverer with each day that passes. He must not be allowed to gain support or accumulate funds. But I have heard his name mentioned in circles over here. And there is evidence to suggest there may be a small group of wizards and witches, previously loyal to Voldemort, who are raising his profile in this country – garnering support, raising money, setting up meetings, secret covens.

"What we are worried about is that he is also planning, with the help of these people, his infiltration of this country, perhaps plotting or planning a high-profile terrorist event. Of course, the Quidditch World Cup would be the obvious thing."

"But surely, that would turn people off the whole pureblood thing? I thought those beliefs had died out since the war? Wizarding folk would be horrified at the thought of innocent people being murdered."

"Most, of course, but Kresvidyev, just like Voldemort, will operate through terror and fear. He needs people to know he means business. We cannot afford to be naive now, Hermione."

She bristled. "I am not naive, Minister."

"No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Listen, I called you in here for a reason. I would like you to lead the investigation into these groups, and try to discover how much support Kresvidyev has garnered over here. Talk to people, keep your ears and eyes open. Be discreet, but attentive. I'm sure with your experience, you'll be able to cast light on the matter very soon."

"Of course, Minister." Hermione felt an immediate surge of excitement. She beamed. "Thank you, Kingsley. I can't tell you how much this means to me."

Sweeping from his office, she practically flew down the hall. Her life was suddenly alight again: going back to work, Lucius, and now this. She had never been happier. Could it get any better?

Her husband had picked the children up that day, and as she entered her home and heard happy footsteps running towards her, her heart swelled. Hermione bent down to embrace her children as they flung themselves into her arms, smothering them with kisses. They returned her ardour and they swept into the kitchen to tell her about their day and show her what they had brought home. Contentment flooded her.

And she would see Lucius in a few days time.

She did not want anything in her life to change.

* * *

**Well, that all seems fine then ... _doesn't it?_**

**Let me know your thoughts. LL xxx**


	10. Chapter 10

**I'm here, I'm here!! SORRRRRYYYYYYYYYY! Life, work, and a bit of writer's block have all conspired against me recently. I actually have had this chapter nearly ready on my HD for ages, but wasn't sure if it fitted with what I am not sure will come next! I am pleased with it in itself and know it fits in with what I have in mind, even if I am not certain exactly what that will be!!! Hermione and Lucius are confused in this chapter, and so am I!! I thought I had this story planned perfectly, but have had a crisis of confidence, and now find myself missing my muse. So, please expect waits between updates. It's in there somewhere, but will not reveal itself at the moment!! I don't mean you'll have to wait months, but maybe a few weeks ... sorry. :-(**

**BUT!! My muse has been fired elsewhere. I am very happy with how the Sirius fic is coming along. I may be ready to post the first chapters of that soon, and have written a little 'divertissimo' Lumione too (well, am writing it). Bit naughty really - I find it impossible not to be naughty where Lucius is concerned. That should be showing itself soon too. And check out my little SS/HG one-shot if you haven't already, _The Last Potions Lesson Ever_ - hmm, I wonder what will happen there!?**

**OK - just popped back in to correct a completely dweeb-like error on my part. The scene on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel which I am refering to when L and H part, was of course painted by Michelangelo and not Da Vinci! Not sure what planet my brain was on when I typed that. Thanks to Kentucky Reader for pointing it out. :)**

* * *

Shacklebolt's assignment energised Hermione. Enlisting Harry's help, she started to compile information on Kresvidyev. But accruing facts proved difficult. She had to make forays into the seedier side of the Wizarding world, often accompanied by her good friend, and although there were times when eyes would shift from her gaze and voices would mumble, there seemed little tangible evidence that the dark wizard had links in the United Kingdom.

Still, she probed. Hermione felt that a breakthrough was just around the corner. This fortified her resolve to continue with her usual fervour.

Her life was busy and productive. The children had settled happily into school and nursery, and Hermione felt like a new woman, or at least an enhanced version of her old self.

She was able to completely separate her times with Lucius from the rest of her life. Early on, when her lust for him had been unrequited, she had found herself thinking about him constantly, but now that they met on a regular basis, all thought of him was able to be pushed to the back of her mind when they were apart. But as soon as his door shut on them on a Wednesday, they would tear at each other's clothes, their desperate need suddenly propelled to the fore. However, until that time, she could live quite distinctly from the relationship she so passionately pursued one day a week.

Lucius was much the same. His Wednesdays with the mudblood sustained him. He tried not to think too hard about his behaviour towards her when she was in his home. There, he treated her like a lover, not just physically, but emotionally. He knew he did. When she left again, and he was alone in his house, it confused and disturbed him and he retreated from it by blotting her out from his mind for the rest of the week.

When apart from Hermione, he and his wife would entertain purebloods still clinging to the old beliefs. The usual insults and anti-muggle and mudblood invective would be slung easily around the table. Lucius joined in. He had no reason not to. The reaction he had experienced that time with the Moncrieffs and Dunstables did not resurface. Now that Granger was his, he no longer felt so raw about his conflicting feelings for her. He still held his pureblood beliefs as firmly as the people sitting around his table. Occasionally, her name would be mentioned and he too found it easy to insult her just as he would have done before, as if she was a different person to the one to whom he gave his body every week.

He and Narcissa existed much as they always had. They spent little time together, hardly ever alone. If they were together, it was usually in the company of others. He even found himself more relaxed with her friends and more able to tolerate their vulgar habits. He could not recall a time when he had felt so settled in his life.

Still, he could not allow his time with the Mudblood to encroach on his life beyond those Wednesdays. She was essential to his existence and contentment, but must not impose on it. The girl apparently felt the same. Her life with Weasley seemed to be progressing predictably and routinely.

It suited them both.

They settled into a comfortable and easy pattern. They had not missed a single Wednesday meeting for several weeks. But despite the regularity of their encounters, they always greeted each other with as much desperate desire as in the earliest days, and the pleasure they drew from each other amazed them both. It was so vital and intense that all other experiences paled into insignificance in comparison. There was no denying their complete compatibility. In addition to the sexual need, they also found the Wednesday meetings fulfilling an intellectual and emotional itch. They would talk for hours, normally in bed or the library, breaking off only for him to taste or enter her again. Although the awareness of their pasts fuelled their discussions and interests, they became to each other on those days the most perfect partners; so much as to truly become as one in all manner of ways.

And so it continued. They deliberately avoided each other at other times, not wanting to exist as themselves to each other in the real world. Their cocoon sustained and nurtured them. They could not imagine existing together beyond it.

That notion was about to be put to the test.

-------------------------------------------

One Monday morning a few months into their relationship, Lucius found himself at the Ministry. He had a meeting to attend regarding an exhibition of work by a magical artist.

It did not even occur to him that she worked there; he gave her life such little thought save for when she was naked in his bed, at which point she became the focus of his universe. He finished his meeting and swept along the gleaming corridors of the Ministry, workers hurrying aside as his imposing form moved through them. He turned a corner. She was walking towards him.

Malfoy stopped abruptly. His stomach lurched. He was not sure what that meant. She had her head down and did not look up. He was vaguely aware that she was with someone.

He should turn, go, get away from her. He could not see her here. They did not exist together outside of a Wednesday. She was the Mudblood. A sense of panic started to rise within him. He was desperate to move but found himself unable to.

She did not look up until she was almost upon him.

Hermione saw him and screamed. Her co-worker jumped in shock.

"Hermione! Are you alright? God, you frightened me!"

Hermione knew she would faint. Her mind reeled, the walls spun around her. Her hands came out to grasp for support, anything. Her colleague looked at her blankly, at a loss for what to do. Hands held her swiftly, the strength of the grasp familiar to her. She was guided into an office where she sat on a chair. Voices spoke urgently around her. One soothed her immeasurably.

"Don't just stand there, you imbecile. Fetch some water."

She could not open her eyes. She knew who she would see before her. No. No. _No._

Her mind was screaming. She could not see him here. Here, he was Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater, enemy of all she held to be good and true.

A glass was pressed to her lips, she drank from it. Still, she kept her eyes firmly shut.

"She will recover soon enough. I must go. I have business elsewhere to attend to."

"Right, Mr Malfoy. Thank you for your assistance. I'm not sure exactly what happened. Mrs Weasley is usually such a strong person."

Silence. _Had he gone?_

"I'm sure she'll be alright now, Mr Malfoy. You'd better go to your next meeting."

Hermione opened her eyes. Lucius was staring down at her with an extraordinary expression she could hardly pinpoint. It was a mixture of concern and disgust. Their eyes met. His face flinched.

"Hermione? How are you? You nearly fainted. Mr Malfoy here has been helping ..."

"Yes. Thank you," she interrupted rudely.

There was an awkward silence. Nobody moved.

"Look," her colleague continued, "if you're OK, I really have to go. I was never very good with ... illness. Mr Malfoy said he had a meeting to get to, but ... err ... You'll be alright now, won't you?"

Hermione glared at her incompetent colleague, who cleared his throat and shuffled out past Malfoy, who continued to stand rigidly in the room. She was as horrified as he to find them together outside of his house.

She turned her glare on him. "I thought you had to go."

"I do."

"Well, go then."

Her mind reeled, she could not process the conflicting emotions he presented her with. She could tell he was feeling the same. His body was tense, confused.

"I did not intend to see you." His words were cold and forced out.

She stood up, fully recovered. "And I cannot see you. Not here. We do not ... " she sighed heavily, "we do not exist to each other here."

He turned sharply to her. Lucius willed himself to go, but found he was rooted to the spot. He was standing before the door, and reaching behind him, he shut it, locking and silencing the room with a charm. Hermione groaned in despair; she knew she was powerless to stop what would happen next.

"Go, Lucius, please, please, go. Not here. I don't want anyone to see us together."

"We are only talking."

"No. It's too much. It's too painful. I don't want ..."

"What?"

"I don't want to be reminded of who you are."

He spun to her and grabbed her chin hard, twisting her head to look in her eyes. "And you think I want to be reminded of who you are?"

She was not afraid, but felt a surge within which confused her.

"Not here. Go, please, please, go."

He was breathing heavily, searching her eyes. He did not move.

"I ... _cannot_." His words coiled into her. She started to weep. This was not how it was. The two paths of her life were not supposed to cross.

He still held her hard, his hands gripping her arms, his fingers bruising. She was vaguely aware that he was walking her back to lean against the wall. One hand moved down, finding the hem of her skirt. She breathed hard, willing him to stop ... willing him not to stop.

His fingers pulled her skirt up and moved between her legs. As ever, there was no underwear. She was soaked.

His hot fingers grazed over her clit, over her expectant folds. She pulled in a sharp breath.

"Tell me to stop. I need you to tell me." He sounded desperate.

"Not here, we musn't. Not here. It's wrong. So wrong."

"You must say the word. Tell me ... to _stop_." His fingers were not obeying his own mind. He did not have the ability to prevent what was happening. He rubbed delicately along her wet sex, up and around her swollen clit. She groaned loudly.

"No, god, no, you musn't."

"Say the word, and I will go. _Tell me to stop_."

Her body was alight, her mind unable to focus. Her insides churned like molten lead, focused on his agile fingers and the feelings they were drawing her up to.

"I can't ... I can't . Don't ...don't ..."

"_What?"_

"Don't stop. Ever ... Anywhere ... Always. Always you."

Her words surged through him like a bolt of electricity – stimulating and agonising in equal measure.

Lucius' hand moved fluidly through her wet core, feeling her pleasure, her need, so tangible on the fingertips.

"Come for me, come for me, come for me ..." He was chanting, low under his breath, almost unaware of the words. She held his gaze, completely at one with his being. She fulfilled his wish.

With a sobbing gasp, she spasmed over his fingers, her mouth falling open in slack wonder as ecstasy was pulled through her upright body.

He gazed at the sight before him, and felt her pulsing around his fingers. His own need rose to the fore and he leaned against her, his breath dangerous against her ear. "I can feel you burning. You are on fire. Your cunt is on fire for me, isn't it? I will have it. I will have you. There is no other way. You have possessed me and I will possess you."

"Yes, yes. Please, come into me. Please, please, please, come into my cunt. I need you inside me, Lucius. I need you now, here, now, _please_." She sobbed in desperation. She could not remember before experiencing such sweeping emptiness in such need of completion.

He was equally desperate, desperate to resist what would happen, desperate to be inside this perfect body, this perfect woman. He knew they had never intended it to be this way. He knew he should hate what she was, hate her for controlling him in this way, but he could not prevent himself. He fumbled at his buttons and released himself quickly. Then gripping her shoulder hard, he positioned himself and pushed, fast and brutal, up into her.

"You bitch. _You little Mudblood whore_. How can you presume to do this to me? I can't stop myself. I want you now and always. _Bitch. _What are you doing to me? _What are you doing to me?"_ His words were spoken with a bizarre mixture of hatred and adoration. He was almost weeping.

Hermione allowed him his confusion. His abuse at that moment merely turned her on ever more.

Lucius was moving rapidly. He thrust into her in selfish, urgent abandon, but the intense brutality of their coupling merely sent her desire skyrocketing. Again, her muscles prepared themselves. He rubbed relentlessly against her already swollen clit, and jolted against her cervix, giving her a feeling of such completion she thought she really would faint this time.

"Feel it, _feel it, Mudblood_. Know that it is me. It can be no other way. This is the only way." His words morphed into indistinguishable groans of fulfilment and he came explosively, spurting up into her over and over. Hermione followed almost immediately, her pleasure once again tearing her body apart around him. She screamed as the rapture poured over her, feeding off itself and the hard flesh still encased within her.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, which threatened to fall back in delirium, but the man she was impaled on grabbed her chin and pulled it towards him, digging his fingers into her skin. He held her gaze, staring as her ecstasy reflected itself in her eyes. It brought a final spurt from him.

As their mutual pleasure finally left them, they could only sink down the wall that had supported them. But still they could not leave each other's bodies and continued to hold and grab at the other, their mouths seeking out flesh, their hands clasping, tangling in hair, urgent and vital.

Neither could speak, but they could not part. Hermione clung to him as if her existence depended on it, and knew she was crying. Her tears fell freely now, and were soon accompanied by low sobs wrenched from the depths of her soul. Still, she could not relinquish her grasp on him. Neither could he on her.

They remained slumped against the wall of the office, still joined, for some time. They spoke not a word, their limbs tangled, indistinguishable.

Then slowly, mutually, they parted and stood, silently.

Lucius moved for the door, but still could not relinquish his grasp on her hand. The last point of contact between them was the tips of their fingers, reaching out to each other, in a strange Michelangelo-esque re-enactment.

Lucius opened the door and was gone.

--------------------------------------

As the day wore on, Hermione tried hard to ignore the reality of what had just transpired between them. She continued with her job, concentrating hard on it. She picked up her children, cooked them and her husband supper, put them to bed, sat and chatted to Ron.

It was impossible.

Something had shifted. It wasn't his words, his insults. She knew that. She knew that was how he viewed her. His words had made her pleasure ever more intense.

They had both lost control. They had crossed the line. And in crossing the line they had revealed more about themselves and their perception of each other than either had ever thought possible.

Hermione glanced across at Ron. She wished he was someone else.

For the first time since her relationship with Lucius had become established, her husband repulsed her. She wanted Lucius. Now. Not on a Wednesday, not in his home. Here. Now. Inside her. Fucking her.

Ron was watching TV, laughing obnoxiously at some banal programme. She wanted to punch him.

Guilt suddenly overcame her. Sweeping, gut-wrenching, sickening guilt. It took her by surprise. It was the first time it had.

She knew why.

She was in love.

-------------------------------------------------

Just as he had after the reception all those months ago, Lucius sat disconsolately by the fire in the manor. He had not been able to wipe the scowl from his features since he had had the girl at the Ministry.

Things were not going quite as he had intended.

His need for the Mudblood exceeded anything he thought possible. And now. He wanted her constantly, thought about her constantly.

The door swung open and Narcissa walked in. She took one look at him and sighed deeply.

"God, Lucius. Do pull yourself together. You'd been so much easier to live with recently. I really can't be bothered with the sulks and the petulant mood swings." She lit a cigarette, took a long pull on it and looked languidly across at him. "Gone, has she?"

His head darted up. His wife had never before spoken of her suspicions of a lover, but now she said it straight out, he was taken aback.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Of course you do. Your mistress, whomever she is. I presume it has ended, for whatever reason; hence your rather tedious gloom." Narcissa chuckled a little. "Come now, heart of my own heart, don't flatter yourself into thinking it bothers me in the slightest. That would surely be a case of the pot calling the kettle black, as well you know."

His eyes widened. At last she was confessing her own adultery. It strangely left him feeling little but boredom with the conversation.

He was resolutely silent. His wife continued with a frustrated sigh, "Well, whatever your situation, I do hope you sort it out. Go to her tonight if you can. Heaven knows you won't find any comfort with me, I can assure you of that. If you can find a way to lighten your mood, please do. I can't stand you moping around in the dark. It makes me distinctly uncomfortable."

Lucius sneered at her and rose quickly to leave the room. Despite the cold night drawing in around him, he went for a long walk in the garden, striding rapidly through the hedges and neatly trimmed shrubs around him.

He could not get her out of his mind.

It was Monday night. Could he even survive until Tuesday?

_Fuck._ He hated this feeling – this loss of control.

He must find a way to regain it.

* * *

**As ever, your thoughts, ideas, perceptions are very much appreciated and valued, especially at the moment when my creative drive on this story needs a kick up the backside!!**

**LL**

**xxx**


	11. Chapter 11

**So - after many many months, an update!! I cannot guarantee that I will again be posting regularly, but I am energised by this story once again.**

**My apologies for the dreadful delay - I have been writing other things, mostly on another site, for various reasons, but will always return to you, my loyal ff readers!! Sorry also, as I fear I responded to few reviews for this last time. Thank you! I read and absorb them all, believe me!**

**So - this is a busy, angsty chapter, but stick with it ... I hope it is worth the wait. The next one will not be far off, and as you will see, should give you plenty to come back for!**

**Enjoy. LL x**

* * *

Hermione could hear the sounds of the children's raucous screaming laughter before she had even walked the few steps up to her front door. She smiled wearily. The reminder of the existence of one's own children, of their life force, of your own physical perpetuation, was always comforting, thrilling even. But on this occasion, Hermione's emotions were tempered by the raging confusion which was taking hold of her mind.

How to reconcile her feelings for a former Death Eater with the two beautiful, energising, exhausting, exuberant, brilliant and draining creatures that were her children?

She put her key in the lock slowly. It clicked in with its usual metallic sliding chink. For the sake of their muggle neighbours, the Weasleys invariably used their key. On this occasion, however, she had no need to. Ron had opened the door before she had a chance to turn it.

And then there was the matter of him.

"Hey, babe! We were wondering where you were. I've even got supper started!"

_Am I supposed to be grateful for that?_ wondered Hermione.

She managed a small smile at him, and walked past into the hallway. She felt his hand come up and rub over her back as she passed. Instinctively, she pulled away from it, feigning the need to take off her coat.

Rose and Hugo raced out to greet her. A sense of elation swept over her, partly out of genuine delight at seeing her children, part from relief at not being left alone with her husband.

"Mummy! Mummy! Will you cook us supper!? Daddy was making cheese on toast and it's rubbish. He burns it. Can we have macaroni cheese? Pleeeeeaaase?"

Hermione glanced ruefully back at Ron, who shrugged impotently. Even the thought of making a simple cheese sauce was not something she relished. Could she not sit down for five minutes in a dark room and weep? What was Lucius doing now?

* * *

Lucius had gone out. He had arranged a meeting, and needed to be there promptly.

He arrived first and went and sat in a dark corner of the inn, waiting for the man to arrive. He sniffed disdainfully. The wizard was late. The apparition required to get Lucius to this location had not been a pleasant experience and to be kept waiting as well ... There were other places he would rather be. He took a large draft of firewhisky, and sucked it in through his teeth. Already, he missed the taste of her. He threw the remainder of the glass down his throat, and approached the bar for another.

The bastard must arrive soon.

The door behind him opened and a chill wind swept into the room. Lucius pulled his robes about him and turned around. At last. The person for whom he had been waiting had arrived. The man nodded at Lucius and indicated the table in the corner. They sat at it quickly.

* * *

The usual feelings of physical and emotional satisfaction which resided in Hermione after her Wednesdays with Lucius were currently absent. Despite the intense pleasure they had both experienced in the Ministry, she knew she was deeply unsettled. She could hardly bear to look at Ron. The guilt she felt gripped every fibre in her body. She had not had sex with her husband for a week. It had always surprised her how she had managed to continue to be physical with him, but she had. Not now. Luckily, he had been tired of late, and had not demanded anything. She had simply turned her back on him after getting into bed, and pretended at least, to go to sleep.

Since their Wednesday meetings had become regular, Hermione had been able to detach herself completely from Lucius at other times. She had not thought about him. Now, his image was ingrained behind her eyelids permanently. She thought him, dreamt him, when she inhaled she smelt him, when she touched anything, she was touching him. Nothing else would do.

But with those emotions of yearning came the opposite. The paradox of her situation. For the first time since the realisation of her attraction to him, she was terrified. The control she thought she had regained through him, she now felt slipping away, in an altogether more horrifying way than before. The enormity of what she had entered into was starting to hit home.

As she sat at supper, the salad on her plate remained resolutely uneaten. Rose, Hugo and Ron were laughing jovially, after Hugo had boasted about the big poo he had managed to do in the potty that day. Two weeks ago, Hermione would have joined in the hilarity, but looking from the one member of her family, her responsibility, to the other, nausea punched her in the stomach, and pushing back her chair violently, she ran from the room desperately, just reaching the bathroom before vomiting spectacularly into the toilet.

She stayed behind the locked door for some time. After a few minutes, there was a gentle knock. "'Mione? You OK? We're worried about you."

She held her head in her hands, but forced her voice into a show of normality. "I'm fine, sweetheart. Sorry. I just wasn't hungry and didn't really want to think about poo while staring at food. It's OK. I'll be out soon."

"OK. Take your time." Pause. "You're not pregnant, are you?"

She nearly laughed aloud. She was not – contraception was something she had been very careful about since Hugo's birth. "No! God, no, not at all! Don't worry."

"I wasn't worried."

She closed her eyes as her gloom intensified. But the mere mention of pregnancy made Hermione imagine carrying another child; Lucius' child. A little blond half-brother for Hugo and Rose. She continued to laugh.

How preposterous.

How wonderful.

Instead of her body heaving with surreal humour, it was now wracked with sobs, tears streaming hot down her cheeks. Luckily, Ron had moved off.

She remained desolate until Wednesday. When the morning dawned, the feeling of ominous dread merely grew worse. It was such an unusual emotion in her now, that the realisation of it merely heightened the sensation.

The time she normally left for Lucius' came and went.

Hermione sat in the kitchen, staring at the clock. Her day was ebbing away.

Her conscience had forced her, for the first time, to remain at home.

Her body was furious with her, as was her soul. She was denying them their oxygen, choking them.

At quarter past eleven, her body won.

She grabbed her keys, and without even a glance in the mirror, disapparated to St James' Gardens. She ran up the steps and rang the bell. He answered before her hand had even pulled away.

"Why are you late?" Lucius' tone was harsh; he was clearly aggrieved. He had not even stepped aside to allow her in.

"I was confused." She saw no reason in lying.

Silence. He stood tall above her, staring down impassively. Her confusion grew. She was not used to his hesitation in possessing her body on these occasions. With the denial of normality, came also a further sense of control slipping away. It upset her.

"Do you want me to go?" She sounded as terse as him.

He did not answer immediately.

"No." The eventual reply was as chill as his mood.

She averted her eyes, and huddled into her coat. A feeling of resentment began to bubble within. "I'm cold."

At last he stepped back, and held the door for her. She walked, awkwardly almost, into the hallway, and stood, not wishing for the first time to proceed any further into the house.

She turned back to him as he shut the door. It was the first time they had not immediately made love when she had arrived. Hermione knew she was beginning to panic.

"I do not like you being late."

"It's the first time, Lucius. I hardly make a habit of it." She was frostily defensive.

"Why did you come at all then?"

She stared at him, not entirely sure what to say. "Because it's Wednesday."

The tension between them threatened to bubble over into dark magic. Hermione's fingers tingled. Their energy sparked the air. And through it all, she recognised the stirrings of her desire. It could not be ignored for long. It could never be ignored.

An involuntary sob broke from her. She brought her hand up to her mouth to try to stem it, but the noise crossed to him. He glanced at her curiously, almost disapproving of her show of emotion.

"I'm sorry." She said it at first to cover the strange noise that had emerged. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry ..." For what? For her tardiness, for what had happened at the Ministry? For cheating on her husband? For her own confusion and indecision? For falling in love with this man? For making him feel the things he did for her? She had no answer.

Tears were falling freely now, but before her body gave way and sank to the floor, he had crossed to her in one step and encompassed her in strong arms. Her mouth moved up and he captured it before she had time to form another apology, for what neither of them was sure, but it was necessary, and it brought them together swiftly and completely. They used magic to rid themselves of their clothes, and he entered her smoothly there and then on the tessellated tiles of the hall.

After their immediate needs had been addressed, they ascended the stairs to the bedroom, where they remained through lunch. They spoke little, but made love several times. They were as passionate and accomplished as ever, but Hermione sensed a change. A wariness had crept over them both, not of each other, but of the strength of their own emotions, and what that signified.

They lay quietly, the curtains drawn against the light of day.

"What have you been up to?" she questioned softly.

The hand which had been stroking her arm stopped. It was not customary for them to ask about each other's lives, unless it involved them both or something mutually significant to them, such as literature or music.

"Nothing of interest."

"I don't know how you fill your days. Does the manor take up a lot of time?"

A further pause.

"Relatively. But I have an estate manager."

She could tell his voice had hardened.

"I haven't bumped into you in Diagon Alley recently. Have you not been there much of late?"

He huffed and raised himself from the bed. "Do not pester me with these prying trivialities. They are of no interest to you."

Her insides twisted with a sense of betrayal. "They are. I like to know what keeps you occupied."

"No. You don't." He glared at her, flung on a robe and swept from the room, slamming the door behind him. Hermione's heart dropped from within her.

She shut her eyes tight to stop the room spinning around her, and forced common sense back to the fore. She would give him some space. It was, apart from the tension in the Ministry, the first lover's tiff they had had. She was behaving stupidly. Of course he did not want her knowing about his life away from her. That was how they functioned. The incident at the Ministry had highlighted that. And here she was stirring it up again. After some time, she decided it was safe and sensible to go and find him. Putting on her own clothes, she went downstairs.

He was standing in the front room, fully clothed, an outer coat on.

When she entered, he turned and looked her up and down with remarkable detachment. The sense of panic in Hermione returned ferociously. It was only two o'clock. They normally had another hour together.

"I have to go out. I have a meeting."

She gripped the wall for support.

"But it's Wednesday."

"Yes? People have meetings on Wednesdays."

"Not you."

He sighed, and began donning black leather gloves. "Really, don't be so petulant. I expect better of you."

His words pierced her through. "Lucius ..."

"I will see you next week." He moved to exit the room. She stepped in front of him.

"Lucius." She did not wish to sound desperate, but she did. She knew she did. He did not at first meet her eyes, but then his grey orbs flicked to hers. The corner of his eye twitched, but he said nothing. Apart from that, only his breathing belied any regret on his part.

She could not stop herself. "Where are you going?"

The grey sparked. Before she knew it, a black gloved hand had enclosed around her neck and she was pushed against the wall. The force restraining her did not hold so hard as to prevent any breath, or even so hard as to bruise, but she could not move an inch nonetheless. Lucius leaned in, placing his mouth hot against her ear, and whispered, his voice malevolent and insistent.

"You will never ask me that. Do you hear me, mudblood? _You will never ask me_."

She looked into his eyes, and her blood raced so fast around her body she felt her magic coursing through her. It took every ounce of willpower to prevent her from flinging him from her with a spell.

Soon enough, the grip on her neck relaxed, and he backed off. But still he held her gaze, his eyes returning to their usual imperious impenetrability. She could read no remorse in them.

Hermione's mind and body conspired their response. Her right hand tingled, her arm flexed, and with a swift and violent swing, she flung it up. The back of her palm slammed across his cheek, throwing his head back with remarkable force, the stinging thwack reverberating around the walls.

Lucius froze, his head still held back in the position she had forced it into. He did not even bring a hand up to feel for any tenderness.

The silence between them could be touched on the air. He moved his head and looked into her eyes, his own displaying no humanity whatsoever. Hermione pursed her lips, desperate to force the tears welling up behind her pupils to remain at bay.

And then, as smoothly as ever, Lucius turned from her and left. She heard the pop of disapparition moments later.

Hermione's emotional and logical awareness was disappearing fast. She could not remain in the house. Withdrawing her wand, she mumbled the spell and disapparated, to where she knew not exactly.

With dizzying predictability she landed unceremoniously on damp hard ground. It was cobbled. She glanced around her. High wooden buildings rose on either side. A man in a long purple cloak shot her a quizzical look and stepped over her slumped form into the broader street beyond. It was Diagon Alley.

The forced return to normality stemmed the rising tide of panic for a moment, and this time, she was able to isapparated carefully and safely to the peace of her own living room.

She fell onto her sofa and allowed emotional exhaustion to overcome her. She had never wept so much in one time.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy strode quickly through the streets of Bath on the way to his meeting. For its purpose, it was inappropriate to meet in a wizarding town, but Bath was filled with enough exotically cultured characters for him to blend in relatively unobtrusively. As muggle towns went, it was passable, by their standards sophisticated, elegant even, with a history even he could not ignore, but he was deeply unsettled nonetheless. Still, even a man of his impenetrable obstinance could deduce that it wasn't just the place which was disturbing him. The incident in his home a short time before was tormenting his very soul.

She had done it again.

Presumed to remind him of their other lives. Asked him directly.

_Stupid bitch._ He sneered, propelling himself swiftly through the tourists and shoppers of Bath, his cane tapping reassuringly on the pavement. If she was going to persist in this way he was better off without her. Especially now.

His cheekbone ached. She had struck him hard. It had hurt. But not with the physical force. Only with her heated passion.

He stopped abruptly, pulling himself up. He thought he may collapse. The thought of not seeing her, not being inside her, talking to her, feeling her ... _Passion_. It was her passion he lived for. Lucius swayed on his feet, the world reeled, the sky darkened. He managed to move to a building and steady himself against it. Concentrating on his breathing, he cursed her again.

_Presumptuous mudblood bitch_.

He never knew ... He never thought ...

The clock of the abbey struck the half hour. It steadied his mind sufficiently and he set off again. Thinking of the meeting he was due to attend comforted him somewhat, comforted him in this alien world he found himself in. He must get to it. He would be late.

* * *

Hermione was not exactly sure how, but another week passed, the days blurring into each other, propelled through time by the regular pattern of meals, dressing, work, school drop off. Before, she had welcomed the hastening of time, the propulsion towards another Wednesday. Not this week.

She was dreading it.

She was miserable.

This was not what she had imagined. This was not what she wanted from the relationship.

Pain, remorse, resentment, guilt.

Love.

She did not ask to love him. She could not love him.

Hermione did not like feeling miserable. At those times, her usual pragmatic view of the world was banished and she decided on a course of action quickly in order to quell the emotion within, in order to regain her control.

She had made up her mind.

* * *

On Wednesday morning, she took the children to school and nursery and without a moment's pause to think, apparated to St James' Gardens. She did not even consider whether he would allow her in after what had happened last time.

She rang the bell. It was some time before he answered, but he held the door open smoothly for her, looking down from his usual elevated position.

She walked past him without looking up and went into the living room.

Hermione stood in the room, not looking at anything but the window. She did not want to remind herself how much she loved being here.

Lucius came and stood just inside the door.

"You haven't taken your coat off."

"No."

Silence.

She continued, "I won't stay long."

Hermione turned to him. She could read nothing in his face.

She spoke before it became impossible.

"It's over, Lucius."

There was a long pause, but then he replied, his voice as even as ever. "Why?"

"Because we are making each other unhappy. And we are deceiving people."

"That never troubled you before."

She could not stay much longer. She was about to disintegrate.

"I can't do this anymore. I can't bear to think ..."

Lucius wanted to send her away swiftlly. If it was to be done, it must be done quickly. He had sensed its imminence, anticipated it, and was grateful she had been the one to do it. But instead of dismissing her as perfunctorily as she had dismissed him, he found himself behaving quite differently.

He stepped into her, not touching, but so close she could feel his heat, smell the deep essence of his skin. She closed her eyes to block it out.

Lucius spoke to her, why, he knew not. He heard the words issuing from his mouth, and could scarcely believe they were his.

"Can't bear to think what? About whom you really are? What you really want? Go then. Go and live a lie. You are right. You are deceiving somebody. You are deceiving them so profoundly that they will end their days bitter and resentful, eaten up by regret." She looked into him, her soul wrung out within her. His features were as calm as ever, but his eyes were wracked with agony. "You are deceiving yourself."

With a final brief glance, a glance in which she saw his humanity laid bare before her, and her own reflected in it, she fled from him.

* * *

Lucius remained in the living room, staring at the space she had abandoned. Despite rational thought telling him it was the right thing to have happened, the sudden and brutal shock surprised him. Why was she no longer in the room? He could not quite comprehend all that had just taken place. It had been so quick, so sudden. Had it really in fact happened? As occurs in those terrible split second moments when an instant of horror occurs, he could not fully believe in the event, or the subsequent passage of time. He believed he would find himself back fifteen minutes ago. She would arrive and they would go upstairs and he would enter her.

That was how it was.

No.

Over.

Finished.

If he had been aware of himself he would have realised his muscles were clenched as tightly as if they were gripped by cramp. As it was, he vaguely registered the rustle of the curtains as his coiled magic forced its way out and into the air around him.

* * *

The following days passed calmly. Hermione impressed herself with her ability to function. It reassured her that she had done the right thing. She did not need to think about him. She was not thinking about him.

She was remarkably busy. Her work at the Ministry was complicated and intense. The file she was compiling on Kresvidyev was growing ever thicker, much to her delight. She was sure she would make a breakthrough soon. Her children were playing up. They kept her occupied. Ron was out a lot. She had not really noticed. They had not had sex for some time. Hermione certainly had not noticed that. She filled her time at home with cooking. A lot. More than ever before.

She did not have time to think about Lucius Malfoy. She made sure of that.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy wondered if he should visit a healer. He had not had the need to do so for as long as he could remember. His constitution had always been strong and indefatigable. But in recent days, he had noticed an ache, a dull throb which had started in his head and extended deep down into the core of his being. It would not go away. He had tried some of his own potions, without success. At night, when alone, the ache would develop into nausea, rendering him lethargic and moodily taciturn. His wife could not bear to be around him. Not that he minded, or even noticed.

He had tried to ignore or banish the sensation with whisky. It only made it worse.

He had told himself he was better off rid of the mudblood. The complications she had exacted in his normal perception of the world had been exhausting, if he was being frank. It was a relief to be able to return to his beliefs and values without reservation, without inquiry, without ... guilt.

He shook himself, downing another large mouthful of the pale liquid. Normality needed to be restored.

He glanced around his London home. He remembered something. Marching to the cellar, he retrieved the portrait of his father, carried it determinedly up the stairs, and hung it back where it belonged. He would go to a healer the next day and sort out this wretched malaise. Lucius raised his eyes to the painting he had just replaced. Abraxas Malfoy smirked down at his son from on high. Things were seemingly returning to normal. There was a certain comfort to be derived from that. Lucius Malfoy raised his glass to the portrait.

"Cheers."

* * *

It had been a week since Hermione had ended it with Lucius. She had passed the morning shopping, and had returned just before lunch, believing she felt remarkably okay. As she was walking up the path to her front door, a cheery voice sounded behind her.

"Hey stranger! Long time no see."

She turned to see the beaming face of her muggle friend, Kate.

Hermione managed a watery smile back. "Hi, Kate. God, it's good to see you. Sorry it's been so long. I've had ... things on my mind."

The expression on her friend's face turned to sincere concern. "No problem, sweetie, but ... if you don't mind me saying so - you look terrible. What the hell's the matter?"

Hermione could not at first respond. She thought she was doing alright. She remembered herself and managed a weak laugh. Kate's blunt honesty had always been refreshing.

"I ... it's just ..." she hesitated. She rarely asked her muggle friends in, but thinking quickly, she had not left any magical objects lying around which could not be explained. She could so do with a chat. "Do you want to come in for some tea?"

"Yeah – come on, let's have a proper chinwag. Sort you out."

"Yeah. Well ... come in."

Kate put her arm round her friend and guided her into the house.

Once inside, Kate sat Hermione down at her own kitchen table and put on the kettle. Soon enough, they were both sitting with steaming mugs of tea in front of them.

"So ... tell all – if it helps."

Hermione sighed deeply. But it was clear. She needed to talk. She wanted to talk. She trusted her friend.

"I've been having an affair."

Kate did not look remotely surprised or shocked.

"Been having?"

"It's over now."

"Right. How long did it last for?"

"A few months."

"Was he married?"

"Yes."

"Does Ron suspect anything?"

"No. I don't think so. I've been very careful, and Ron's ... so dim like that."

"Has it only just ended?"

"A week ago."

"Who broke it off?"

"Me."

"Why did you call it off when you did?"

"It was making me unhappy."

"Not at the beginning though?"

"No."

"So what changed?"

She had told her all thus far, why stop now?

"I fell in love with him."

"I see." Kate paused.

There was silence.

"Do I know who this person is?"

Hermione closed her eyes, recalling their conversations after she had first seen Lucius again. "You don't know him."

"But you have mentioned him before?"

Hermione nodded. Kate's follow-up was almost immediate.

"The white-haired man?"

Hermione nodded again. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, remembering the euphoria of those early days.

Kate reached across and held her hand. "I'm hardly surprised you know. I've seen you over the last year or so. You were like a spring, every fibre of your being coiled, ready to explode. Something had to happen." Hermione glanced at her with shameful resignation. "How good was it to start with?"

"Very."

"Lots of sex?"

"Lots."

"Good sex?"

"Incredible sex."

"Well, that's something at least. You deserve it."

Hermione smiled sadly. There was silence between them again for some time.

"Do you want to stay with Ron?"

"Yes. Of course." Hermione voiced it almost as a question.

"But – something was obviously not right for you to do this. Have you spoken to Ron?"

"About shagging another man?!"

"No! About your issues with your marriage."

She grimaced and shook her head.

"You should."

Silence.

"Are you still in love with him?"

"With Ron? I ... think so ... "

"No! Not Ron! The other one."

"Oh." Guilt. "I ... I don't know."

"I'll take that as a yes." Pause. "There's more to it, isn't there? You were funny about him when we spoke before."

Hermione nodded.

"You can trust me, Hermione. I may be able to help you if I have the full picture.

Hermione sighed, then said softly, "He's ... done ... some bad things ... in his past. Things affecting us both – Ron and I. If Ron found out who it was ... he'd kill him. Or Lucius would kill Ron."

"_Lucius?!"_

She nodded.

"Okayyyyyy. Slightly weird name."

Hermione smirked. "It's not weird where he comes from."

"I have to say, he sounds rather ... exotic." She smiled, then asked curiously, "What kind of bad things?"

Hermione frowned at her friend and shook her head. "I can't tell you."

"But you have clearly forgiven him."

Hermione thought hard, not speaking for some time. When she did, her words were addressed not to Kate, but to her own realisation. "I forgive him everything when I'm with him. And he forgives me." She broke down. "Oh god, I miss him. I need him. I miss him so so much. He's the only one who understands me, wants me, doesn't judge me." She laughed aloud. "If you understood how extraordinary it was for me to say that about him. Bloody hell! Our acceptance of each other is unequivocal. When we're together, we are exactly who we are supposed to be. How can I live without that?"

Kate looked at her in despair.

The doorbell rang.

Hermione sighed in deepest frustration and reached for a tissue. "Shit. Bloody hell. Piss off."

"I'll go." Kate got up and headed for the door. Hermione jumped up, overtaking her. She was not so incapable as to be unable to open her own front door.

She reached it just before her friend did, and slung it open vehemently.

Outside stood Lucius.

He looked at her. At first, he did not even see the other person standing beside her. Hermione's breath emerged slowly from her chest. She forgot to draw in another.

Neither spoke nor moved.

For some time, the strange tableau remained, the three of them silent, still. Lucius remained on the doorstep, Hermione with her hand on her own front door, her friend, gawping in amazement at them both.

It was Kate who at last managed to pop the bubble. "I ... I'll just ..."

Hermione turned to her with a start, surprised to find her there. She spoke in a mad rush of surreal normality.

"This is my friend, Kate. Kate, this is Lucius."

Kate extended her hand, and smiled awkwardly. Lucius shifted his glance at last, down to the hand reaching towards him. He took it and shook. Hermione observed his actions.

"You just shook hands with a muggle." Her voice was oddly calm.

"Did I?"

"Yes."

"I see." He was completely detached from all but Hermione.

Kate's nose wrinkled in confusion. She tried to get through to her friend. "Hermione. I'm going now. Call me."

"Bye," Hermione said without hearing it.

Kate managed to get out. She swayed back as she squeezed past Lucius' tall broad frame, but did not glance back at her friend. Hermione did not notice her leaving.

They were alone.

Silence for a moment. Their eyes forged a path between them, mending, tying up all that had been unravelled.

"I cannot be without you." He spoke the naked truth.

"No."

"I am taking you back to my home."

"Yes."

They were there within a few seconds.

He did not plunge into her immediately as he may well have done. It did not matter. Everything was alright. And the erotic tension between them was more charged than at any other time. As soon as the door had shut behind them, he had taken her hand and pulled her upstairs to the bedroom. He stood her in the middle of the room. They stood once again in silence, looking at the other, reinforcing their awareness that they were back where they belonged. After some time, Lucius spoke.

"Why did you do what you did?"

"I no longer felt in control."

He held her stare and spoke again. "Are you used to being in control?"

"I'm used to trying to be in control. Pretending to be in control."

"And how do you feel when control slips away from you?"

"I panic. That was the feeling that was taking over my life before I met you. The feeling in the Ministry, and afterwards."

"Is that why you did what you did?"

"Yes."

He paused briefly.

"I was happy to let you go. I thought I was, at any rate."

"You need to be in control too."

"Perhaps."

The air was still around them. They were standing a foot or so apart, hardly moving, their speech crossing from one to the other without breaking the atmosphere.

"Could you never put yourself in a position where you relinquish control and still feel safe?" he asked softly.

"I have never thought of that."

His eyes were absorbing her, examining her, as if for the first time again.

"Remove your clothes."

She did not move, more from surprise than defiance.

"Do it." It was insistent, but not harsh.

Hermione obeyed him, not because she feared the reprisal if she did not, but because she wanted to. Her desire demanded her to. She brought her hands up and undid her buttons, letting her garments tumble to the floor. He did not take his eyes from her.

"Stand in front of the bed."

She did.

Lucius approached her, slowly and deliberately, and leant forward, whispering in her ear, his voice more deeply sensual than she could ever recall.

"Do you trust me?"

"At this moment, yes."

"But not always?"

Pause.

"No."

"Is it enough?"

She did not need to think about it.

"Yes."

He was holding her right wrist, massaging it. When she finally gave her affirmation, she became aware of the pressure on her wrist changing. He had bound a black ribbon around it. He pulled it up, raising her arm with it. The other end he tied high up to the bed post of the four-poster.

Without looking at her, he repeated the process with the other arm and tied it to the opposite bed post, leaving her arms extended out and above her. She accepted his actions without question. Everything was right.

He stepped into her, his hand coming up as if to caress her, but stopping just short. Hermione was weeping, weeping with relief and longing.

"I give myself to you. Lucius – I give myself to you."

He held her gaze, his face alight with tender certainty. "Oh no, my darling. Now, as always, it is I who give myself entirely to you."

* * *

**As I said, next one not far off - much is on disk already, and as you can probably imagine ... it makes up for the lack of smut in this chapter ...**

**Any thoughts, after this lengthy absence, humbly received. xxx**


	12. Chapter 12

**Well, here we are. After far too long, I have finally got another chapter for you. Yes, it was nearly ready to go for many weeks, but not quite. Sorryyyyyyy! I could say I have lots of lovely plans for this story, which is true, but I won't promise anything, as I have fallen into that trap before. But - I have actually got lots of lovely plans for this story, and many are already committed to paper (well, HD anyway). So ... be optimistic! I have also put links to banners I have made for my stories (including this one) on my profile page. They took lots of time to do - far more than it would appear - go and look!!! That's an order! (Not really)**

**I am also intending to post a Remus/Hermione one-shot in the not too distant future ... Watch this space.**

**So, thank you for your patience. I apologise profusely for my tardiness in posting. And also - thank you, thank you, thank you for your lovely reviews. I am ashamed that I have not responded to them all personally, as I always used to do - blame life and kids and what-have-you, but please know that I read them all and value them all immensely. **

**Right, I'll shut up now. Enjoy! x**

* * *

Lucius stood back and looked over her body, but did not meet her eyes. His hands moved to his own clothing and he removed his jacket and started to unbutton his shirt. He did so with slow deliberation. It was only then that Hermione felt the first hint of uncontrolled longing. A moan broke free from her lips.

Lucius paused in his actions and raised an eyebrow to her before carefully continuing to undo the buttons. Eventually he had worked his way to the bottom of his shirt and with a fluid action, flexed his shoulders to pull it off.

He stood before her, his pale skin glowing in the candlelight, as if imparting a radiance itself to the dimness of the room. The darkness of his legs, still clad in thick, black material, contrasted with his luminous torso. Hermione longed for his touch and instinctively tried to move her arms to reach out to him. She could not and sobbed with despair.

Lucius did not move for a moment, but then stepped towards her again and once more inclined his head to whisper in her ear. She thrashed her head towards him, but he evaded any contact, eliciting another groan from his lover.

"You must calm ... still ..." His low tones travelled through her entire being. "If you do ... you will reap the rewards. I want you to experience it. I want you to experience the release, the forsaking of responsibility."

"Why?"

His eyes at last moved to hers. Lucius paused, but then heard his thoughts formed out loud in the air between them. "Because you deserve it."

Hermione held his gaze.

He knew he should look away, but in truth, he did not want to. His hand came up and turning it, he lightly stroked the back of one finger down the side of her cheek. She sobbed again, but not this time with frustration.

His finger moved to her lips, and rested on them. "Shhh ... accept, relinquish your hold ..."

"I ..."

Her words were stifled. He had placed a scarf, tightly coiled, in her mouth. She tried to finish her sentence, but could not. The gag was not uncomfortable, but took away one of the assets she relied on most in life – her voice.

His hand continued to run over her face, stroking her hair and caressing her skin which ignited under his touch. "So beautiful." His words were so genuine and tender that a tear fell onto her cheekbone, caught there before tumbling further.

His hand moved down her body, touching her flesh, which rose in goosebumps under him, despite the fact that she was burning with desire.

"Are you afraid?" he asked, low and honeyed.

She shook her head.

His hand was cupping a breast. He looked down at it, an expression of awed reverence on his face. His thumb rubbed over the nipple, causing the already taut flesh to swell and harden further. He glanced up into her eyes. They were wide with expectation.

"Do you think I will hurt you?"

She did not move.

"Do you think I want to hurt you?"

She could not move. He averted his gaze, as if thinking of the answer himself.

"I do not." His eyes returned to study her curiously. "Does that disappoint you?"

He awaited her response. When none was forthcoming he cocked an eyebrow to illicit one. She eventually shook her head, but not forcefully. He smirked. His thumb and forefinger closed around her nipple and he pinched, gently at first, but with growing strength, not relinquishing his hold. Hermione groaned into her gag. She wanted to recoil against the pain, but found it simply surged through her body, culminating in a coiling knot of pleasure deep within. He slackened his hold.

"I do not believe you. But I shall do no more. I have no wish to. I cannot disturb your perfection." His hands moved up and down her body again, running over the curves of her waist and hips. "However, I cannot guarantee there will be no discomfort. You must allow it to inform your pleasure."

Hermione was breathing heavily, the gag in her mouth making it necessary. Her clit was throbbing with need, desperate for his touch. She sobbed against the cloth in her mouth. But he avoided her and knelt at her feet. She knew what he was doing. He tied a ribbon around her right ankle, and, pulling her foot over, tied it to the foot of the bed. He did the same with the other ankle. She was spread-eagled and immobile before him. Lucius raised himself up and stood looking at her. Then he moved forward, and slowly and gently pulled the gag from her mouth. She gasped in for air, but his hands cupped her head and he swiftly moved down to her, kissing her hungrily, his tongue immediately sliding in to sweep around, coating her mouth, dry from the gag, with his own moisture.

He allowed her to savour the kiss for a while, and they stood joined at the lips. Then he pulled back, immediately replacing the gag. His mouth travelled down her neck, past her collar bone, until it reached her breasts. He kissed the soft plump flesh and came at length to the nipple. It was yearning for his touch after the attention it had received earlier and Hermione pushed into his mouth. He took the tight bud of flesh in his lips and sucked it hard. She moaned into her gag. She could feel his hardness pressing against her belly, but it remained tightly concealed in his clothing. Lucius felt the nipple swell further in his mouth. He groaned, delighting in the hard little nub dancing on his tongue. Hermione was grinding her hips against him and he could hold back no more. He needed to sense her pleasure. As slowly as he could, he reached between her legs, almost surprised by the wetness of her inner thighs. She was moaning almost constantly now. He allowed her to. It was a sign of her abandonment.

His fingers gently, teasingly, parted the wet folds, flitting, fluttering over them. She jerked as much as she could onto his hand. He pulled back, drawing a sob from her, stifled in the gag. It was a supremely erotic sound.

His mouth remained at her breast, and his fingers at last began to quest further. One slid up deep inside her, circling, then out to stroke languidly up towards her clit. He let the nipple in his mouth pop out, then moved to the other. More muffled groans could be heard from above him. His fingers worked more fervently. The breathing of the woman against him shifted. She was now pulling in short, shallow breaths. He knew what it meant. He increased his efforts, sucking hard at the nipple, occasionally running his teeth over it. His fingers stroked, coaxed, pulled her pleasure out. Hermione's mind was a haze. She wanted to reach for him, hold him, guide him, but she neither could nor needed to. She was entirely in the hands of this man, this man whom ten years before may happily have killed her. Now, she was utterly dependent on him for her pleasure, and she delighted in it. It was the most liberating experience she had ever had. Lucius' fingers and mouth moved on her, and she came, profoundly and completely.

Pleasure ripped through her, travelling instantly up and down the length of her upright body, transforming it into a channel of ecstasy.

_Release._

Her thrashing limbs struggled in vain against their bonds and she knew tears were coursing down her cheeks. But they were not tears of frustration; they were tears of liberation, of utter freedom.

It took a while for her breathing to steady and her mind to settle. She opened her eyes. Lucius was looking at her in rapt wonder. But when she met his gaze, his expression turned more serious. He stepped into her and ran his hands up her arms, rubbing them, coaxing the blood to run through them again. It was only then that Hermione became aware of the discomfort she was experiencing. It surprised her that she did not care.

"I will give you more," he said, his voice caught between a tender whisper and a factual statement. He leaned in, brushing her hair away from her ear, so that his breath was caught against it. His voice was barely audible. "On one condition. You do not ask. You never ask. Do you understand? Do you want more?"

He pulled back to judge her response. She nodded, trying not to seem too desperate. Her clit was already ready for more, the forced immobility of her body seemed to concentrate all her physical awareness into her sex, which she could feel burning, crying out for his touch yet again, despite the mere moments which had elapsed since her orgasm.

Lucius leant in once again to her ear. She moaned in anticipation. As much as she longed for his touch, his honeyed voice poured into her ear was deliciously enticing. "You know what I want, don't you? What I always want? To make you come, to make you come onto my tongue, to taste your pleasure, my little Mudblood ... Your pleasure, wrought by me, " he exhaled with the wonder he was describing, "it has entirely consumed me, rendered me incapable without it."

Again, he moved to look into her eyes. She held his gaze, incapable of speaking. Even if she could, she would not have known what to say. He had removed all rational thought from her mind. At that moment, he knelt swiftly, and with a final awed breath out as he came against her womanhood, he plunged his mouth against her.

Hermione flexed hard against the ribbons that bound her. Her arms were almost numb now, but the dull throb that she sensed in them was mimicked entirely by the coiling lust twisting ever stronger within her core. Lucius' hands had pulled her folds apart, and his tongue was sweeping in long, slow lengths up her sodden channel, gathering in the wetness he found there with each pass.

The feelings drawn out by his mouth were heightened by his fingers, which stroked, circled and pulsed around and within her most delicious places.

Hermione had lost all sense of time and place. She existed solely to channel the sensations he was eliciting in her. All was forgotten save for him and her body's capitulation to him. Her head fell back and she groaned into her gag. The man beneath her glanced up, and through the haze of her delirium, she detected words, rising to her.

"Give of yourself ... give to me, only me ..."

She did so. Her pleasure poured out of her to him. Again, she jerked erratically against the ribbons which still held her tight.

Time passed. It seemed like minutes, but in reality was only a few seconds. Hermione eventually felt the tug on her arms relaxed and hands bringing them down slowly and gently to her sides. The same hands massaged up and down along them, as the blood flowed back painfully. Hermione winced. The tender rubbing continued. When she relaxed, she felt the attention move to her feet, where her bonds were undone in turn.

Still without looking, she fell back onto the bed, unknowingly opening her legs in preparation for what she knew must follow. It did not take long. Within a moment, she felt his strong, taut body pressed against her. He was positioned, but did not move into her.

"Look at me. I want you to look at me."

She had hardly realised her eyes were closed. She was almost surprised to find her senses still functioning. Lucius was mere inches above her, staring down with an intensity which made her gasp.

When their eyes met, he pushed fully within her, with a grunt of urgent satisfaction. He felt larger than she remembered and she groaned with the sudden fullness.

He held her gaze all the while, while moving powerfully within her. She did not, nor could not look away. His eyes were bluer than usual, the azure flame bleeding into the grey, something she recognised as a sign of his extreme arousal.

Her mind told her to avert her eyes, to deny both of them the connection they were experiencing, but she could not.

Lucius ploughed into her time and time again. He wanted to disappear inside her. If he could have buried himself in her forever, at that moment, he would have done. He could fall into her. He was falling into her eyes. He knew it. They were wide open, staring at him, into him.

She opened her mouth and said one word, almost in revelation.

"Lucius."

He came apart within her, his seed pulled from him in long bursts. He felt her muscles constricting around him as her own orgasm took her.

_Let me live in her. Is there another way?_

They lay afterwards in silence, as was often the way with them. But this time they both knew that something had changed.

The line they had crossed was as if a curtain had been pulled back, and what they already knew lay behind it, was at last revealed, confirmed to them.

Hermione lay beside him. Her feelings fluctuated wildly. One moment she was more contented and at peace than for an age, the next she was terrified.

After a while, she turned away from him, lying on her side.

"I cannot live with you." Her words were calm and factual. "And I cannot live without you."

Lucius did not speak. She did not expect him to. But then fingers came to grip her chin firmly, and pulled her head over. His lips descended and he kissed her so deeply, consuming all that she was, as if trying to disappear into her.

When at last he pulled away, taking a little of her with him, his face became detached once again.

"I have to go now." Lucius rose from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Hermione lay quite still, her mind oddly empty.

When he returned and was dressing, she rolled over to look at him. "Wednesdays are not enough."

"No." He did not look up from the buttons on his shirt. "You will stay the night soon."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"I do not know. You will find a way."

His words should have angered her. They did not. "Monday. Next Monday. I will stay on Monday night."

"No sooner?"

"I don't think I will be able to."

He paused.

"Very well."

She became aware of an aching on her wrist. She glanced at it. It was red and grazed where the material had dug into it. He noticed her rubbing it. "I told you there would be discomfort."

"I like it. It will remind me of you." She watched him as he finished dressing. "I won't stay long. I'll be gone within half an hour."

"Very well."

He turned to leave, crossing to the door. Then, stopping suddenly, he looked back at her. "Do you still sleep with him?"

His sudden words shocked her. "What?"

"You heard me ... do you still sleep with him?"

"What, do you mean ... intercourse?"

"Yes."

"I ... he is my husband. Yes."

Silence.

"But ..." she hesitated.

"But what?" His voice was still insistent.

"It has been harder recently. Even when you and I weren't together." Hermione drew her legs up into her and clasped them tight. "Why did you ask me that?"

"I want to know." His voice was cold.

"You don't let me ask you about your life. Why should I tell you about all that?" Resentment welled up in her suddenly.

"Does he bring you pleasure?"

Hermione grimaced. "Lucius! Stop it."

"Does he?" He was insistent.

"Not especially."

Why was she answering him? Her anger rose in her. "Do you still sleep with your wife?"

"No."

Hermione was not sure what to say. "Because of me?"

"No. She has a lover. She suspects I have a lover."

"Did you have lovers before?"

"Before what?"

"Before me, Lucius? Did you have lovers before me?"

"No."

An odd combination of pride and shame swelled through Hermione.

"I am married, Lucius. I have a family. You cannot forget that. This is ..."

"What? What is this?"

She looked at him, searching for the words. "I don't know."

His eyes moved to the ground, and he placed his hand on the door handle once again. His head moved to the open door. But then, with a movement which made her gasp with shock, he came swiftly and suddenly over to her again. Without stopping, he pulled her down the bed towards him, and opened her legs wide. Once again, he bent his head to her womanhood, desperately and urgently, and feasted on her, imbibing her as if he had been starved.

All Hermione's uncertainty at his words was banished. Once again, his mouth and tongue and lips were the focus of her universe – this man, so in need of her for his existence, and she, equally, unable to do without him.

With an incoherent sound of necessity, she arched into his mouth, reaching her hands down and holding him as hard against her as she could. He pulled back only to concentrate on pushing his fingers deep within her. She felt two propelled with urgency into her now sodden pussy, and one, maybe two more into her tight but welcoming anal passage. Their possession of each other was complete and unequivocal.

Apart from the unidentifiable sounds of need and pleasure, neither spoke a word. Her fingers remained tangled in his hair, and he lapped and sucked until pleasure rose out of her and into his mouth once again.

And then, when her body had slackened and fallen silent, he raised himself and left her. Hermione was vaguely aware of the house's silence after his Disapparition.

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**Please, please, please can I have a Lucius?**

**More in the not too distant future, especially if you let me know your thoughts ... mwa ha ha!**

**LL x**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks as ever for the wonderful and invigorating reviews. I apologise if I have not responded to you personally, but value ALL your lovely comments so much. It is simply a question of time.**

**If you are not aware, I posted links to various banners I have made for my stories, including this one, on my profile page.**

**So ... Wednesdays are no longer enough. I think Lucius and Hermione are proving that point rather spectacularly ...**

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Hermione returned to her house just before she was due to pick the children up.

Lucius' need for her was in no doubt. Neither was hers for him. How exactly that would fit into the rest of her life, she was not sure. But for now, all she knew was that she had to be with him.

She had tried the other. It had been impossible.

She collected Rose and Hugo as usual, happier than ever to see them, reinvigorated even. Ron came home at six o'clock, just before she served the spaghetti. He kissed her on the cheek. She pulled away, pretending to reach for the pepper.

Dinner time passed as it usually did. The children ate their food too quickly. They got up when they shouldn't have, they squabbled, they needed their manners putting right. Ron talked about work. Hermione talked about having tea with Kate. She omitted details of the conversation.

She omitted who had called in the middle of it. She spoke, staring into her plate of food. "My Aunt Jane isn't very well. She has shingles."

"I'm sorry to hear that, love."

"She could do with someone to help her out."

"Yeah – bloody awful, shingles. My gran had it once. Took her to a Healer – useless he was. It's like chicken pox, isn't it?"

"Yes, but much worse in adults. She's suffering quite badly. I feel bad that I can't do more."

"Do you want to go and see her?"

"Well ... it's a busy weekend. I don't know."

"What about after the weekend?"

"I suppose. Monday is reasonably free. But ..." Hermione could not look up.

"What?"

"She could really do with some support through the night. Just for one night. I think it would comfort her a lot."

"Stay the night if you want."

"Do you think I could?"

"Yeah, why not? We'll be alright, won't we kids, while mummy goes off to visit Great Auntie Jane?"

The children nodded happily.

"Thanks, Ron. That would be great."

The oppressive weight of guilt pressed down on Hermione so powerfully she felt dizzy.

Hugo burped loudly and Rose and Ron splurted out laughs across the table.

With the surprise intrusion of domestic inanity, Hermione's guilt passed, suddenly and unequivocally, to be replaced by exultant excitement. Could she last until Monday?

Luckily, the rest of the week passed relatively swiftly. Hermione was so busy that Thursday and Friday were dealt with in quick succession.

On Saturday she took her children to the park, dreading the rest of the weekend. Her stomach tingled with constant need, which deepened as Monday approached. Ron was off playing in a match. Hermione had taken the children with her friend, Jo, and her son and daughter.

It was a beautiful day: the sun shining hot amd daring in the clear sky, the smell of late summer still thick on the air. Families sat having picnics, the padded bottoms of their nappy-clad toddlers bumping down in regular intervals onto the natural cushioning of the verdant grass. Hermione was infused with happiness. She could not help but be. Her children were laughing, her husband was away and hence out of her mind, and she was seeing Lucius soon. When a swing became free beside Rose, she found herself wriggling onto it, throwing her legs before her and propelling her body high into the air, laughing as cooling air rushed into her lungs. Higher she swung, her feet reaching towards the clouds. If she could fly to him now, she would. Her eyes closed and she merely let the feel of the air rushing past her, through her, guide her senses.

After a good five minutes, long after her daughter had finished, Hermione at last got down from the swing, giggling and rushing over to clasp Hugo in her arms, twirling him in her arms.

"You're in a good mood!" laughed her friend.

"Oh why not?! It's good to be frivolous once in a while!" she grinned back, all inhibition banished.

The children continued to play contentedly. Birds chased each other in the endless blue of the sky. Butterflies fluttered around, pale against the green of the grass. One landed on Hermione's shoulder. She smiled down at it, assuming it to be a cabbage white. But on closer inspection, she noticed it was certainly not a cabbage white. Reaching up to touch it, she gasped as it hopped onto her finger. It was made of paper. She glanced anxiously at her friend. Jo hadn't noticed; she was absorbed in getting the children safely down the slide one after the other.

Hermione grasped the paper butterfly in her hand, her heart beating loud and wild in her chest. With trembling fingers, she undid the folded paper, which had stopped moving in her grasp. As the paper straightened out, she could see words written on it. Three words.

'_Look behind you.'_

Slowly, her breath catching in her throat, Hermione turned her head and looked over her shoulder. Behind her, a short distance off, was a dense thicket of tall bushes and trees. In a gap in the middle, masked by branches and shadows, she saw his face. He was looking directly at her.

Her desire rose so fast she thought she may pass out. Glancing blearily at her children, she could see they were happily engaged on the slide. She did not allow a further second slip by.

"Um, Jo, I really need the loo. Could you keep an eye on them for a bit?"

"Yeah, no prob, Hermione. They're all fine. Off you go."

Hermione turned and practically ran to the thicket. With barely a glance around, she pushed her way through to the middle.

Immediately, hands grabbed her, pushing her up against a tree trunk. She opened her mouth and instantly it was plundered by wet heat. Her hands were down, tearing at his fastenings, pulling him out into her hand. He released a guttural groan as his erection was plied in her desperation.

Hermione was wearing a light summer dress, buttoned at the front. He tore it without hesitation, and pulled a breast free from her bra. After a groaning exhalation, his mouth was down on the nipple, tugging it between teeth and lips. Hermione did not let go of her grasp on his cock, now seeping onto her palm. She moved her hand over it hard, pumping it out to full ripeness, her fervour helped by the lubrication of the thick liquid leaking from the tip.

His own hand was down between her legs. He frowned with annoyance as he came across underwear. She never wore any on Wednesdays. It did not delay him long. He grasped the knickers so quickly his fingers scratched the flesh of her inner thigh. With a violent tug they fell to the leaf-strewn ground. His fingers returned to find her slick and hot, open and ready. He thrust two deep inside her, moving them violently within, as if wanting to absorb her onto him.

Her leg came up round the back of his thigh, drawing him towards her, opening herself in the process. Lucius gripped her backside hard, bruising, and lifted her up against the tree trunk, propping her up between it and his taut body. She gasped as her back scraped along the bark. His hand came up to clamp down on her mouth. She pulled in her ragged breaths through her nose, her tongue running over the firm flesh of his palm, her teeth nipping it. With a grunt, he pushed it firmer yet against her.

Hermione's eyes widened, expressing her need. Still clasping him in her hand, she pulled him towards her, placing him just above her clit. She moved her body down, rubbing her swollen nub over the head of his cock. They both groaned, although Hermione's exclamation was muffled dully in his palm.

Then, pulling her into the correct position, he pushed her own fingers away roughly, replacing them with his own which he had removed from her soaking pussy. Hermione did not notice the loss for long, as the next instant he had pushed fully up into her. She squeezed her eyes tight shut. She never felt as full as when they were standing. She wanted to cry out, shout her pleasure to the heavens. She tried. The hand remained tightly clamped over her mouth. She dug her teeth into it. He merely pushed it harder yet against her, his cock swelling within.

Holding her backside in his free hand, pushing her against the tree trunk, he began to move, slowly at first, but soon gathering momentum, ploughing along her relentlessly. He was leaning hard against her, his face pressed against the side of hers and the back of his own palm. She could feel every release of his hot breath on her cheek, but he did not speak.

She shifted a little to allow him to rub along her clit with each thrust. That was all it took. Fixing her eyes into his, Hermione inhaled a sharp breath through her nose, and came, her brows creasing with abandon. Her body shook beneath him, her pussy clenching on his rigid cock, still pistoning remorselessly in and out of her. He did not slow. Not taking his eyes from hers, he continued thrusting along her. Only after her body had stilled completely did he at last give himself to his pleasure. He buried his head in her neck and muffled his own exultant grunts in her pale flesh.

As his pleasure was forced from him, he could no longer stand, and together they sank onto the ground, somehow managing to remain joined.

Lucius lay heavily on top of her, not moving, his hand still clamped to her mouth. He looked into her eyes, his breathing deep and ragged. She gazed back, transmitting all her emotion into the fathomless grey she encountered. There was a flash deep within. Slowly, reluctantly almost, he withdrew his hand from her mouth. Hermione's breath was now drawn in rapidly through her freed lips, but immediately, instead of employing them for speech, she pulled her head up, planting a myriad of open hot kisses on his face. He moved and met her with his own mouth, opening it instantly to meet her searching tongue. His body pressed onto her, pushing her into the hard earth she lay atop. She could still feel him inside her; he hardly seemed to have softened at all.

But then they were reminded of their location as a ball landed and bounced disturbingly close by and footsteps rushed past on the other side of a shrub.

Tearing his mouth away, he stared deep into her eyes, his fingers running through her hair with sudden and remarkable tenderness. Hermione gasped in with the surprise of it. She thought he was about to move down to kiss her once again, but then his body seemed to jerk awake, and he pulled smoothly but steadily out of her, pushing himself up and standing tall. He held down his hand and pulled her to his feet. He spoke not a word.

Not wishing to destroy the fragile perfection surrounding them, Hermione maintained the silence, reaching down and trying to tidy her clothes as best she could. Her dress was ripped and stained with mud. Lucius withdrew his wand and with an elegant but subtle wave, she was restored to decorative propriety. He did the same to himself.

Then, with a final look into her eyes, he moved back into the shadows of the thicket, and disappeared.

Taking a moment to compose herself, but finding a moment was all she needed, Hermione stepped out of the bushes into the real world. She strolled with remarkable tranquility back to her friend and smiled at her as she returned.

"Alright? I'm just going to pop to the loo now. You can take over here. Rose and Lucy are on the swings again. The boys are on the roundabout. They're all fine."

She hadn't suspected a thing.

"Thanks, Jo." Hermione smiled, natural and relaxed. She could make it to Monday now. Sauntering over to the swings, she pushed her daughter high into the air, delighting in the jubilant laughter of the little girl.

Saturday finished as Saturdays usually did, and Sunday went past in a blur of birthday parties and cupcake baking. As she was working the next day, Hermione packed her overnight bag that evening. She did so out of Ron's sight, including items of lingerie she kept at the back of an inaccessible drawer.

Ron came to bed after her and, as she lay turned away from him, trying to sleep, she felt his hands running up her thigh. With an annoyed grunt, she shifted from him, claiming to be worn out from the children. He sighed a bit, tutted, mumbled something about hardly ever getting any anymore, then turned over and went to sleep himself. She could not recall feeling such relief before at his acceptance of no sex.

Hermione was up well before anyone else the next day. She normally relied on her children to act as an alarm clock, but today she had breakfast on the table before they had even stirred.

Eventually, the rest of the family joined her in the kitchen, Ron last. He walked in blearily, yawning loudly.

"Morning."

He seemed to be bearing no grudge from her disinterest the night before.

"Hello. Did you sleep OK?"

"S'pose." He scratched his head vigorously after putting Hugo into the high chair. Hermione looked away.

"You're off at your aunt's tonight, aren't you?"

"That's right."

"She any better?"

"Not really."

"Oh well, at least you'll be able to give her some support and comfort." He was helping Hugo ladle yoghurt into his mouth.

"That's right. Do you want some toast, Rose?" Hermione sat down as her daughter shook her head. She could hardly look across at Ron. "Have you got a busy day?"

"Same as usual. Said I'd meet Harry for lunch. D'you wanna come?"

She opened her mouth. At any other time she would have had no hesitation in accepting. But not today. The thought of sitting in silent duplicitous deceit in font of her husband and best friend turned her stomach.

"Can't today, I'm afraid. There's so much on at the moment. I'm going to have to work through lunch."

"Suit yourself." Ron shrugged, but went back to helping Hugo with a broad smile.

Hermione started clearing the breakfast things away. "I'll pick the kids up from school and get them settled back here. I'll try to leave at about six. Is that alright?"

Ron looked at her with blank acceptance. "Whenever. No skin off my nose." He grinned at Rose. "Cheesy pasta tonight!"

Hermione smiled wryly. He was hardly the most adventurous cook, but he knew how to keep the children happy.

She worked swiftly to get the children dressed and ready for school and nursery, and loaded them into the car. Turning back to Ron, she smiled, "I'm sorry I can't make it for lunch. You don't mind, do you?"

Ron frowned at her sudden show of remorse. "No. Doesn't matter. I know you're busy, sweetheart." He pulled her in for a kiss. She allowed him to, but as his probing tongue tried to open her mouth, she drew back, giving him a quick peck instead.

"I've got to go. I'll see you later."

"Yeah, alright. Bye."

If he sounded disappointed, she didn't notice. With a meagre smile back at him, Hermione fastened the children in, started the engine and drove off.

Luckily for her, work was indeed hectic. There was a review meeting on the progress with the Kresvidyev case (little had been achieved) and many parchments to study and respond to. Hermione did indeed work through lunch, only remembering at the last minute to get herself a sandwich.

At four she hurried from her office and went to pick up the children. As she pulled up to the house, she could not ignore the incessant churning of her belly.

Ron arrived home at about five o'clock, by which time Hermione had started to grow agitated. Not with guilt or shame, but with need. Why could the bloody clock not move faster?

She sat on the floor playing with the children for the last hour, and then, as casually as possible, stood up, and with a sigh, said, "OK. I suppose I'd better go. Bye bye then, you two." She picked Hugo up tightly in her arms and hugged him into her. It was only when he squealed and cried out, pushing her off him that she realised her cheeks were wet with tears.

"What's the matter, Mummy?" Rose questioned curiously.

Hermione wiped her eyes rapidly. "Nothing. I just ... I'll miss you, that's all."

"We'll be alright." Her daughter wrapped her thin little arms around her mother's neck. "It's cheesy pasta tonight." Hermione laughed through her tears and kissed her daughter's cheek.

"Be good. I'll see you tomorrow after school, alright?"

Rose smiled warmly at her. Hugo had already returned to his toys.

The one thing worse for a mother than a child in despair at her departure, is a child who does not even notice it.

Planting a kiss on the head of her distracted son, Hermione stood and left the room. She went upstairs, took out her overnight bag from where she had secreted it, glanced at herself in the mirror and descended again.

Ron was cooking the pasta in the kitchen. "That you off then?"

"Yes. Thanks for this, Ron. Are you OK with the school run tomorrow?"

"Course."

"OK. Bye then." She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. This time he was too distracted to expect more. Before he could change his mind, she moved to leave.

"Bye, love, see you tomorrow. Hope your aunt's a bit better."

Hermione shut the front door behind her. The sonority of the thud resounded through her. She walked a short distance down the street, withdrew her wand discreetly and disapparated to Lucius Malfoy's London home.

In the gathering gloom of early evening, the light in the living room beckoned her fast towards it. Her heart was thumping relentlessly in her chest. How many times had she been here now? She had lost count. But never had she approached the house with such anticipation.

Walking swiftly up the steps, she raised her hand to knock. The door opened before she had even formed a fist.

Lucius stood behind it. With a slight smile, she walked in quickly. She went and stood in the living room.

He came in, the curtains on the window shutting as he entered. Hermione turned to face him. He stood for a moment, his face immovable, unreadable, and then he stepped into her. His hands came up and held her head, tilting it a little, studying it.

Her mouth dropped open to draw in more oxygen. His eyes flicked to it and then slowly, surely, he brought his mouth down to hers and kissed her.

It was the softest, safest and most soothing kiss Hermione had ever received. For an age, he simply moved his lips gently over hers, no more. His mouth rubbed, coaxed, nuzzled. But before long, she felt a more focussed wetness run along her, as his tongue came out to awaken her senses yet more. But still, she allowed herself to be guided by him. At length she felt his tongue slipping between her lips, pushing into her, seeking out her own. When he had found it, he teased it, toyed with it, but still brought her such deep and subtle pleasure she never wanted it to end. It was as far removed from their desperate coupling in the park as was possible.

And there they stayed, time passing them by, their mouths, lips and tongues mingling in a soft and sensual exploration, affirmation, as if for the first time. He did not relinquish the tender grasp on her face, but neither did he seek anymore. They had not moved from their initial positions in the room.

After what could have been an hour or simply mere minutes, they eventually withdrew from each other. He stood, still resting his forehead on hers.

"Hello." It was breathed out, a low whisper.

"Hello," she replied with a smile.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

"Do you like scallops?"

"Yes."

"How very fortunate."

With that he took her hand and pulled her after him deep into his house.

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**And what else is on the menu, Mr Malfoy?**

**Any reviews read and digested with great devotion! x**


	14. Chapter 14

**Here at last! I'm afraid updates will require a bit of wait, but I can assure you of my complete commitment to finishing this story to a high standard. For those who read my work elsewhere, you will be aware that I have a WIP which is drawing to a close. I also often get ideas which I find I have to simply get out of my head before I lose them. For those of you who read 'The List', there is a sequel, 'Lists, Lust and Lovers', on Granger Enchanted and The Petulant Poetess. Beware, however - although very sensual in its approach, it is not for the faint-hearted!**

**Once again, thank you so much for the lovely reviews. I am, due to time commitments and the folly of the internet, simply unable to answer all reviews personally, I wish I could, but please be aware once again that they are ALL read and appreciated so, so much. You are truly wonderful people.**

**So ... dinner time ...**

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Lucius led Hermione through into a room towards the back of the house. She realised that she had never actually seen much more of it besides the living room, library and bedroom. The room she now found herself in was clearly a dining room. Hermione was aware of her jaw dropping and had to make a conscious effort to shut it.

The room was larger than the living room, with two high windows and a chandelier hanging from an ornate ceiling rose. Dark, elegant wallpaper rose up from the dado rail. The walls were hung with gilt-framed oil paintings. The one over the fireplace at the far end looked like a Constable. This time, Hermione did not question its provenance.

Lucius had crossed to a side-table and turned his back. As Hermione continued to survey the room, she heard the discreet pop of a champagne cork. He crossed back to her, extending his hand to her in which was contained a bubbling long-stemmed glass.

"Thank you. What a beautiful room."

"Hmm," murmured Lucius, looking around as if thinking about it for the first time. "It is rarely used. I do not entertain here."

"You should."

"I use this house for when in London on business and ..."

"And what?"

"You."

"In that case, I insist we eat in here from now on." She smirked up at him before taking a long draft of champagne. The bubbles seemed to rise through her mind itself, infusing it with tingling anticipation.

Lucius returned her wry smile. "As I recall, we do not tend to do much eating when you are here."

"Well then you have been neglecting me, Mr Malfoy."

"I was under the impression that you were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, Miss Granger. However, I will attempt to rectify the situation tonight."

She did not correct his teasing use of her maiden name. This time she liked it.

He leaned in to kiss him, but just as his mouth drew near, she brought her glass up to her lips again, denying him. He stopped but did not pull back, staring with a burning determination at her. Once her glass had descended again, he picked up where he had left off, holding her head tight this time, not allowing her to escape. Hermione looked back at him once they had parted; his eyes were more steely than ever. Her defiance crumbled and her lust mounted. She swayed a little and motioned her arms up, about to pull him into her again, but it was he who stepped abruptly back this time.

"I must go and see to the food." He turned smoothly from her and walked to the door.

After steadying herself after his presence was gone, she asked after him, "I thought you would have an e..."

Lucius stopped and turned back, throwing her a dismissively unimpressed glance. "A what, Miss Granger?"

She smirked in embarrassment. "Are you cooking yourself?"

"Yes. Does that surprise you?" She could tell he was quietly insulted.

"No! I mean ... I don't know ... I ... Yes. I suppose a bit." She flapped her arms to the side.

His eyes rose slightly to the ceiling. "My dear, I am not completely domestically incompetent. You sound as if I would not even know how to boil an egg."

"I'm sorry. It's great. I just, did not expect a man of your ... standing ... to fend for yourself in the kitchen."

"Well, I'm not just fending for myself; I'm fending for you as well. That gives me added motivation."

She could only smile as he stood tall in the doorway. "You're rather lovely, did you know that?"

For a moment he could do nothing but stand and look back at her. All his being, everything he ever wanted in life, needed in life, suddenly and completely existed only in this woman standing in his dining room. His mouth twitched into a momentary smile before he spun around and left the room. He could not stay gazing at her any longer. In that single moment, life was altogether too wonderful and too terrible.

Hermione sipped her champagne. For now, she had forgotten everything else. She was simply here with him. And for now, she would adore and love him. For now, she allowed selfish happiness to envelop her.

After a few minutes Lucius returned carrying two plates of food. "Sit," he dictated with a smirk. Hermione did so swiftly, placing her napkin in her lap.

She smiled at the plate before her with satisfaction. "This looks wonderful."

He did not look at her but sat himself. She noticed a slight flush on his high cheekbones.

"What is it?"

"Warm goats' cheese salad with Parma ham and asparagus." The subdued words were as close to mumbling as Lucius Malfoy would ever come.

"Thank you."

They ate silently for a moment, Lucius clearly embarrassed and wary of her reaction.

"It's really fantastic, Lucius."

"Hm," he grunted softly, his head still resolutely lowered.

She smirked to herself, but continued eating. She had meant what she had said. He had done a wonderful job.

As Lucius relaxed, they began to chat contentedly about everything and nothing: developments in the wizarding world, intrigue at the Ministry, gossip about the goings on in Diagon Alley. They talked as any couple would talk at dinner in the evening, laughing to each other, content to talk inconsequential nonsense at times, happy with silences at others.

After they had finished the salad, Lucius rose to clear the plates.

"Do you want some help?"

"No. Stay there." Before she could get up to assist he had gathered everything he needed and swept out.

It was a few minutes before he returned, again with more plates.

This time Hermione thought better than to say anything, but Lucius volunteered the information. "Scallops with garlic and herb butter and celeriac puree."

"Clever boy."

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

"I know," she smirked.

He held her gaze, his arrogant smirk causing an instant twist in her belly. She lowered her head to her food and carefully cut a scallop in half, bringing it up to her mouth. Her lover simply looked at her as her lips parted and she placed the succulent piece of seafood between them. Instead of assuaging the burn inside, the creamy sweetness merely added to her growing desire. She glanced at him. "Gorgeous."

He cocked an eyebrow.

"Fascinating, the sense of taste, do you not think? How a myriad of tiny little buds on the tongue can distinguish all these extraordinary things – bitter, sour ... sweet ... Of course, a particular sense is heightened if others are denied."

She glanced up. He was concentrating on his food, but then he smoothly replaced his knife and fork and stood, moving swiftly round to the back of her chair. Hermione tried to look round, but he placed his hands on her shoulder to prevent her. Bending down, he kissed her ear, whispering a hushed, "Shh" into it.

Her breathing grew heavier and her lust coiled avidly within her. Before she knew it, he had placed a length of smooth black material over her eyes, tying it firmly behind her. She instinctively brought her hands up to move it, but he had grabbed them firmly and pulled them behind her and the chair, not painfully, but with no way for her to resist. Hermione felt her hands being tied to the chair at the wrists. She pulled back a little, but found no real movement possible.

"Lucius!" Her protest was feeble and lacking in conviction. "I want to eat."

"And so you shall." She felt his breath on her ear again. "Let's just prove my point, shall we?"

She did not speak; she would not deny him anything. Her belly leapt with anticipation.

She heard cutlery being picked up again and the gentle rustle of his clothing.

"Open."

She parted her lips. The warm giving flesh of scallop was placed tenderly in her mouth. Her taste buds immediately burst with the sensation, causing her mouth to moisten intensely. She ate the food, relishing both the taste and texture.

Then a glass was offered to her, and the crisp white wine which they had been drinking was poured carefully into her mouth. She swallowed amidst a laugh of delight, causing a trickle to run down her chin. Lucius caught it on his finger and pressed it back into her mouth. She sucked hard on the finger offered to her, wanting it to remain there. He indulged her for a time before pulling back. She groaned with the loss.

Hermione inhaled sharply. She could smell more food being held before her and opened her mouth avidly again, but this time nothing was forthcoming. Moaning, she pushed her head forward to try to draw it to her. She could smell the succulent sweetness of the scallop held a tantalising inch away from her.

"Are you enjoying my food?" he teased with the usual drawl.

"Yes."

Silence. No movement. She almost roared with frustration.

"Would you like some more?"

"You know I would. Yes."

"You'll have to ask more nicely than that."

"You're a bastard, you know that?"

"Those weren't your sentiments earlier."

"I've changed my mind."

He chuckled but did not bring his hand further forward.

"Lucius ..." It was a low moan.

"I said you'd have to ask nicely."

She let out a whining frustrated groan. "_Please_."

"Good girl. Open."

"I have been for the last minute!"

"I know, I just like to see those perfect lips of yours flushed with anticipation."

She shut up and held her mouth open for him. After a while he at last dropped half a scallop into it. She chewed it hungrily, each mouthful igniting not only her senses but her desire.

"More?"

She nodded fervently.

"Very well."

There were more rustles of clothing. Hermione's lips opened wide, her mouth watering uncontrollably. She felt hands on her head, turning it slightly.

There was a different smell this time, dark and masculine. She recognised it instantly, but before she had time to register fully, he had placed not the sweet flesh of seafood between her lips, but his rigid, engorged cock.

Hermione did not question it. She moaned loudly around the delicious object in her mouth and set about tasting and savouring it with as much relish as she had consumed the seafood earlier. Lucius let out a long, slow breath of awe as he watched her full lips dragging and pulling his pleasure out. Her tongue flitted out and soaked up the drops forming on the tip, devouring them, tasting their saltiness on her tongue, complementing the sweetness of the shellfish. The smooth firm flesh she held in her mouth was all she needed, all she wanted. She could feast on it forever more and she would be happy.

But then he pulled back. She almost sobbed with frustration. The wine glass was brought to her mouth instead and she took a long drag of the alcohol to stem any annoyance.

And then more food. Another bite of scallop was given to her and she ate it heartily, opening immediately for more, of what she did not know or care.

Her head was turned again and, with a groan of satisfaction from both of them, was guided back onto the dripping fullness of his cock. This time he sank deeper into her mouth, his groan rising from him loudly as she took him hungrily. He held her head, guiding her along him, feeling her tongue and lips sucking and supping on him with ardent devotion.

"Beautiful, beautiful ... Hermione ..."

She was not sure if the words were intended for her or him.

And so he continued. She could neither see nor touch anything, but was offered food, wine and cock until at last the food and wine ran out.

After her last mouthful of scallop had been swallowed, he held her head ever more firmly and sank deep into her, hitting her throat. She clenched around him, wanting him as deep within her as possible. He pulled back slowly, allowing her to drag tight over him, her tongue catching the slit just as he withdrew. Then back again fast. He needed only to hold her lightly now, she attended to his building release perfectly. Faster she worked, sometimes light and nimble, sometimes desperate and tight, pulling on the swollen head violently.

Her taste buds, so alive with the various sensations of the evening, avidly craved their final fulfilment. Lucius' breath came irregularly now, the burn in his groin spreading through his whole body. His fingers flexed in her hair, and he pushed fully into her. She awaited the feel and taste of him expectantly.

He tensed and froze. Then, with a groaning roar he exploded into her, pulling back a little so that his hot bursts fell onto her tongue, igniting her senses once again and causing a rush of saliva to flood his still rigid cock.

Hermione closed her eyes and held his release in her mouth, her mind and body replete with sensation. Slowly, finally, she swallowed him.

For a time he stood quite still, apart from a single finger which caressed her face, over the cheeks still enclosed upon him. And then, still not removing himself from her, he bent over and untied the blindfold. She turned her eyes up to him and pulled her mouth in around him a final time, her tongue unable to let him go until he at last slackened and fell from her.

Lucius smiled down, his breathing still heavy, before at last moving behind her and undoing the bindings on her wrists. He rubbed them gently, planting cooling kisses over the flesh. His fingers and lips soothed and caressed away the tenderness caused by the constrictions and then he closed his hands gently around hers and pulled her up.

Not speaking, Lucius led her to the other end of the dining table, free from cutlery and crockery, and guided her back upon it. Without a word, he lowered himself to her legs and removed her shoes and stockings one by one with careful deliberation.

Hermione relaxed into the warm wood of the table and drew her eyes up to the ceiling. The chandelier hung above her, the glow of its gold branches warm and burnished in the candlelight which flickered from it, causing dancing shadows to flicker over the moulded rose above it.

His hands were moving up, parting her, revealing her yet again for him. She was dessert; she was all the sustenance he needed. Lucius knelt up before her, perfectly aligned with her open ripeness, and lowered himself reverently to her.

At first, it was not pleasure which overwhelmed Hermione, but sheer opulent joy. His attentions were so concentrated, so intent on absorbing and consuming her, that the need for a swift orgasm was negated. At that moment, she belonged to him, and he to her. Hermione stared above her, her arms running over the thick ancient oak, her eyes taking in the fluid flickers of subtle light upon the ceiling, catching the crystal drops of the chandelier in a fertile and life-enhancing ballet.

Her first orgasm washed over her in ever-growing ripples, billowing over her skin, until it ran out of the tips of her toes. She sighed to release it, but no more. But he did not move away. Lucius remained between her legs – he could be nowhere else. The usual painful tenderness which often followed an orgasm was muted; she knew she could take more immediately. He avoided her throbbing clit for a while, delving inside instead to soak up the pleasure which was flowing from her. The occasional low moan which vibrated against her told her how entirely enraptured he was with his actions.

She felt his familiar long, strong fingers pushed into her, curling perfectly to rub against that secret place within. She bucked against them and he responded by drawing his other hand up to her belly and pressing her down so that she could not escape his pliancy. And then his tongue was back, lightly, delicately, tasting and teasing, tasting and teasing. Hermione focused on the dancing shapes above her, golden hued. Her mouth opened and with her next climax came a sighing cry of utter rapture, a great psalm t life which reverberated around and into him.

And there they remained for some time. He could not remove himself from the essence of her being. When he fed on her, all was right, all was good. Nothing mattered but her.

Only her. _Hermione_. Nothing else.

Her orgasms shifted now as her body became numb with pleasure. She no longer came convulsively, but felt instead as if she was held on a plane of bliss; her body primed only for him. She feared if he left she would no longer exist. She thought of nothing but his hands, his mouth in her and on her.

At last, they had to move. Lucius felt an aching throb and realised that his knees were groaning from kneeling for so long. He stood slowly and stared down at the woman before him. Her legs were still splayed, one drawn up to the side, her head turned; her chest rose and fell regularly and heavily. Her swollen womanhood was dark and full with constant pleasure, the dampness of ecstasy still evident on it, despite his need to consume it entirely.

Lucius held his hand down to her. She wearily raised hers but could not summon enough strength and let it drop again.

Drawing his hands around her, he pulled her off the table gently. She almost fell, but he supported her and guided her up the stairs, placing her upon the bed and removing the rest of her clothing. He quickly undressed himself. Hermione glanced over, aware that he was as large and ready as ever.

Instinctively she opened for him, and without a moment's hesitation, he brought his swollen cock to her pussy and pushed fully in. Despite the slickness wrought by her earlier pleasure, he still found her as tight and glorious as ever.

Hermione's eyes were glazed, but she was aware of a profound completeness as he moved powerfully.

She focused and fixed her eyes into his. He held her head - his own only a breath away.

"I have to have you. Always. How can I do without you? How can I? How can I?" His last words approached a sob.

Her body was so at one with him by now that even after all she had experienced, Hermione still felt herself ready for another climax. His cock seemed to swell yet further, pushing, pounding, fulfilling.

"My darling, my darling." She clasped him to her, her fingers digging into the flexing muscles of his back. "Lucius ... I love you ... I love you."

She said the words to herself and to him. He would hear them. She meant them with all she was.

His head descended to her throat and stifled the guttural groan which was pulled from him as he came deeply into her, his pleasure so intense as to make the world spin around him. He clung to her desperately, still thrusting hard, and her own climax followed soon after, rolling over her in ever-growing swells which seemed to transmit through to him.

As they lay afterwards, night heavy around them, Hermione had a moment where she thought she must get up and leave as she always did. Her heart skipped a beat and she pushed herself up. He turned to her in alarm, a look almost of panic in his eyes. "Where are you going?"

Hermione smiled and fell back onto the bed. "I forgot. I'm not going anywhere. I am staying right here."

Lucius pulled her in tight to him. "All night."

"All night," she repeated.

Neither had mentioned her words of earlier. It did not trouble her. She had not said them for him to reciprocate. She did not ask it or expect it of him. That was not why she was here. As she lay against him, her mind drifting into sub-consciousness, she had no regrets.

As Hermione fell asleep in his arms, Lucius Malfoy was aware only of her and her voice repeating the three words, over and over and over again.

* * *

**How can anyone not be in love with that man?**

**Any thoughts? Thank you all. LL x**


	15. Chapter 15

**Back at last! And things are starting to move on ...**

**JULY 22nd 2010 - I have some very exciting news for me too! My stories, _Discovering Beauty_ and _To Relieve Boredom, Part Four: Scorpio Rising_, have been nominated in the livejournal Smutastic Awards! They are ready for the seconding phase now. It will be open for a couple of weeks. If you enjoyed them, as I know many of you have, please go over to the site and second my stories, or any other great stories you have enjoyed that you find. I think you need to be a member of the community to vote, but that only takes a couple of clicks of the mouse and maybe a day's wait, and then you can vote to your heart's content! And you would make me very happy indeed! You will find the link on my profile page. I am relatively inexperienced on lj so I need all the help I can get! Thank you so much. xxx**

**Anyway ... bit of everything here ... Enjoy! LL x**

* * *

They did not make love again that night.

Before sleeping they lay still. Darkness crept upon them, wrapping itself around their forms to cocoon them together once again.

Hermione did not move, her head resting on Lucius' chest, listening to the steady drumming of his heart, constant and unceasing within, each beat reinforcing her own existence.

And then they slept, that special sleep when for those hours of unconsciousness you forget the trials and torments which await you when you awake. At that moment, for Hermione and Lucius, it was a sleep of compete nurture.

They woke early the next day, but felt more rested than either could recall for some time.

Neither spoke initially, although both were aware that the other had awoken. Hermione was in no rush to leave. The children would be taken to school and she did not have to be at work until later. Eventually she craved more from him than just a reassuring heartbeat and whispered against his chest, "Good morning."

"Good morning." His voice was low and rough with the huskiness of awakening.

Hermione smiled as she heard it. "Did you sleep well?"

"Hmm."

Kissing his chest lightly, Hermione turned to climb out of bed.

"Where are you going?"

There was clear alarm in his voice and Hermione bestowed a reassuring smile upon him to counter it. "I thought I'd make us some tea."

Lucius looked steadily at her before his mouth turned up. "I would like that."

Returning the smile, she left him to go downstairs.

Hermione found her way around the kitchen instinctively and easily. It struck her with thundering suddenness how completely normal it all felt, how right it all felt ... this strange parallel existence, an alternate plane of life which could have been ...

_No._

She watched as the dark liquid fell in a cascading arc out of the teapot and into the cups, the steam rising and hitting her in the face. She almost stumbled.

_No._

She was not entitled to feel happy, to become comfortable with the contented domesticity she was experiencing with him. That was not what this was about. Yet again, it led her too far along a path upon which she had already tripped several times. She could not, must not think beyond the here and now.

Here and now, he was waiting upstairs for some tea. She picked up the cups and took them back.

Lucius glanced at her quizzically when she came in. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." Hermione placed the cups on the bedside tables.

"I almost came down to find you."

She laughed and crawled up beside him on the bed again. "Did you miss me that much!"

The intensity of his gaze made her reel. She had not said it to elicit an answer, nor as a serious query, but it was evident from his reaction that she had spoken near the truth. His eyes moved to her lips and he lowered his head to kiss her softly, lying her back onto the downy pillows. He continued to kiss over her head and neck and only a moment later was inside her. This was their normality. When they were in each other's presence there was a dissonance to the world which did not find its cadence until they were joined.

Their tea had cooled down after their love-making and they sat side-by-side in bed in silent companionship.

"Thank you for the tea."

"You are very welcome."

"You are not leaving too soon, are you?"

"No."

"How is your work these days?"

His question took her a little by surprise, so rarely did they talk about the routine of their lives beyond each other. "Good, actually ... I'm enjoying it. And the Ministry has settled into a slightly more efficient modus operandi in the last few years. Kingsley is very effective."

"What exactly do you do for them?"

"Well, anything requiring that little extra, I suppose, normally involving some picky academic research which no one else can be bothered to do. And then because of my past - if there ever is anything remotely dodgy going on, they tend to haul me out for that, pick my brains ... put me to good use. There never is very much, but I enjoy it. Having said that, there has been some activity recently which I'm supposed to be investigating. I haven't found a thing though. Either the guy is simply not operating or he has a network of contacts who are managing to keep things very very quiet. Anyway, he's hardly a threat at the moment. He's from Eastern Europe – a dark wizard called Kresvidyev."

Hermione could not see Lucius' face. His hand continued stroking her arm, but when she had fallen silent, she expected a comment or response from him. She got none. She continued, pushing for a dialogue. "He's been operating on the continent for some time, but we're worried he might be gaining a foothold over here. Potentially a very nasty piece of work – very powerful in his own circles. Have you heard the name?"

She looked up at him. He was staring straight ahead, his face hard.

"No." He glanced down and brought the tea cup to his lips before replacing it on the bedside table.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak again, but the man beside her had spun around smoothly and had closed his lips around a nipple before she could continue. His fingers were parting and finding her quickly and perfectly. Her words became instead a sigh and she moved down the bed, carrying him with her. Lips slipped down over her ever-awakening flesh and his tongue found her as it always did.

_Pleasure and contentment._

All else was pushed from her mind.

The morning wore on. She spent some time in the library and was joined by Lucius who sat and read, watching her movements as her avid mind absorbed new knowledge. It gave him a warm glow of satisfaction to see her responding so well to his books.

Hermione did not think again of the future: of what she was returning to, of what could have been with this man if her life had taken a different path. When all else was forgotten, when all responsibility and duty and normality were ignored, she was perfectly happy. In the here and now, she loved this man. Once again the force of it struck her. Putting down her book, she crossed to him, drew his head up to hers and kissed him, so hard and sudden she heard him inhale in surprise. But soon enough his hands were tangling in her hair and holding her close to him. Frantic desperation welled up within her and she reached down to release him as he still sat in the chair, coaxing him quickly to thick hardness in her palm. With her other hand she lifted her dress, and with fluid accuracy placed herself over his swelling tip and lowered her body upon him.

Lucius could only groan in appreciative surprise.

Sitting astride him on the chair, Hermione began to rise and fall, pushing her tight wetness upon him in rhythmical pulses of motion. His cock was embedded so deep she moaned with the revelation. Gripping onto the back of the chair behind him, she rocked and bucked, drawing his pleasure out with undulating perfection. He could only watch as the waves of motion rolled through her body before his eyes. Her flesh, her exquisite pussy milked him of his pleasure, her head thrown back and her bottom lip caught between her teeth in concentration. He could feel her muscles constricting around him, squeezing as tight as ever. He grunted aloud. Their skill together surpassed all else before or after. Together they had found the perfect lover, knew exactly how to work each other's bodies, how to read each other's signals. He held her, pulling her dress over her head to reveal the perfect rising breasts swaying with each push. Moving his head, he was able to latch onto one. Hermione groaned as the circle completed itself. Lucius sucked on her nipple hard and deep, until she felt sharp pressure as his teeth closed upon it. The feeling inside her started to grip and tighten, her mind clouding with the awareness of it.

"Yes, yes, yes, my love, my love, Lucius, I love you, I love you."

The words again. He swelled yet further: body, mind and soul.

Moving his mouth from her nipple, Lucius breathed into her, "I cannot stop this, witch. I cannot ever stop this. You know that. You know it. I'm coming into you, my beautiful Mudblood, I'm coming now. Come now, my darling, now, now, it has to be, come ..."

His words turned into a throbbing grunt as his seed exploded deep into the addictive heat of her body. With that, Hermione was carried to the edge suddenly and irreversibly and pleasure tore through her.

At length she collapsed upon him, sated and breathless, laughing with delight. "I like doing it in here."

He returned her chuckle and drew his hands up to clasp her to him. "In the strongest possible terms ... I can only concur."

She brought her head down to kiss him once again and delighted in the sudden shift from the solemn atmosphere of the library to an almost teenage infatuated ardour.

The clock in the hall struck the hour. Eleven.

"Shit."

He saw her face fall and knew what was to come. "You have to go."

"I should have gone half an hour ago. I have some leeway, but I said I'd be in by now. I'd better get a move on. There's a review meeting on this Kresvidyev bloke at noon." She kissed him again and rose off. His arms fell limply by his side and he stared ahead of him at her sudden absence.

Once Hermione had focused her mind on something it was hard to shift her back. She was now in her work mindset and went about showering and getting ready to go with blinkered determination. Lucius felt a prickle of resentment at his sudden demotion in her attentions.

By half past eleven she was ready. She came up to him, checking her bag, her face flushed with the rush of energy she had just expended. Looking up, she could see clear tension in the face of her lover. She tried to kiss it away but knew she had failed. "I don't want it to end either. I'm sorry. But you probably have a lot to do as well."

He held her arms, pulling her into him. "You got up so quickly back there. I am bereft when I come out of you."

Hermione frowned. "Don't say that now. It hurts too much. Don't make this any harder. I can't ..."

"What?"

"I can't get my head round it." She tried to pull away and found him holding her back. "Lucius. I have to go now. Thank you, thank you, my darling for an incredible evening, an incredible morning."

"What do you mean?"

"What? ... I mean thank you."

"No. You said you can't 'get your head round it'. What do you mean by that?"

His intensity was tiring her. "You know what I mean. When our times together finish, we have to switch off. We have to be strong. We need to help each other be strong."

He did not answer and kept his eyes fixed on the floor. Eventually, his hands dropped. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek once again. "Bye bye. I can still come on Wednesday." Still he did not look at her. "Is that alright?"

"Of course."

Relief at his answer flushed her cheeks. "Goodbye then."

At last he met her eyes. He looked desolate. "Goodbye."

* * *

Hermione made it in good time to her meeting. Harry was there which prompted her to speculate that there had been some developments in the Kresvidyev case. She greeted him with a smile and he indicated the seat next to him.

"Hello, you. What are you doing here?"

"Ah! By the pricking of my thumbs ..."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Have you heard something? Because I sure as hell haven't! I was beginning to think this guy didn't exist."

"Oh, he exists alright – I had some dealings with him a while back, when he was only suspected of dark matters, operating on the periphery of things. But now ... looks like his network over here is growing."

Kingsley had by now arrived and called the meeting to begin.

"Good to see you all today." His rich baritone echoed around the room. "And we're pleased Harry could join us. He has some information regarding Kresvidyev which he is going to share with us. Harry."

Harry stood. Hermione leaned forward in her seat, excited by what he had to say.

"We've managed to intercept some owls from a dark coven which we have been keeping tabs on for some time. They are a small group of about ten witches and wizards centred around the village of Casterford in Cumbria. The messages we've captured all seem to be in code and we have been working to decipher them, but they are charmed with a deep magic which we have so far been unable to unlock. However, there are many references to 'The Raven', and we wonder if this is code for a leader of some kind, perhaps even Kresvidyev. Monitoring of the area has revealed an increase in the purchase and harvesting of dark potions ingredients. Several local farmers have also reported incidents of livestock going missing or being killed in mysterious circumstances. Some of you may have heard on the Muggle news of two people going missing on consecutive days in villages only twenty miles apart. Both of these villages are within thirty miles of Casterford. Now, that may be a coincidence, but it is disturbing nonetheless. And the World Cup is only a short time off. We must maintain vigilance.

"I think we need to keep a careful eye on this area in particular. We'd like volunteers to go there, talk to the locals, get some opinions. Don't do anything rash – just a few questions in the pub, over the shop counters. Ascertain their attitude. Do they seem scared, are they aware of anything untoward going on?"

"I'll go." Hermione's words were immediate and unequivocal.

Harry turned to her in surprise and doubt. "'Mione ... it's an intense process. I don't want to take you away from Ron and the kids."

"Don't be silly! It'll only be like any other working day. I can Apparate there in the morning and be back for the school pick-up."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm on this case too, Harry. In fact, I was going to follow up Casterford soon anyway. I'd picked up on the activity coming from that area too."

"Alright," he smiled. He knew better than to dissuade Hermione from anything.

"It is best if we operate alone." Kingsley spoke across the table. "If we send two easily identifiable Ministry officials we may rouse more suspicion than ever. Hermione, as you seem determined, perhaps you could go up to Casterford by the end of the week?"

"I'll do that, Minister."

The meeting proceeded to discuss more mundane Ministry matters. When it at last ended, Harry took Hermione quietly to the side. "Are you sure you want to do this? I don't want you finding yourself in an uncomfortable position."

"Bloody hell, Harry! You know what I've been through. Quizzing the owner of a Lake District village post office is hardly the same as being crucioed by Bellatrix Lestrange!"

"You didn't have a husband and two kids then."

She put her hand on his arm, trying to reassure him. "Harry. I'm not going to do anything stupid. If things get too hot, I'll just Apparate away immediately. What could possibly happen?"

"Just be careful."

"Of course. Now - lunch?"

Her old friend smiled warmly. "Go on then."

They made their way to a cafe in Muggle London, both of them enjoying the anonymity it provided.

"So ... how are things? Haven't seen you properly for ages."

Hermione waited for the guilt to come. It didn't. She answered with perfect honesty. "I'm really well, Harry. It's great to be back at work."

"You certainly look fantastic and you just seem, well, a lot more relaxed, but more enervated too, buzzing I guess. A year or so ago, you were always a bit ..." He took a mouthful of food without finishing his sentence.

"I was always a bit ... what?"

"Well," Harry laughed in embarrassment, "you could be a bit miserable, snappy, especially with Ron. I know he thinks you've been much easier lately."

It was then that the guilt came. Hermione fell silent and picked at her food, her appetite suddenly gone.

"And the kids? How are they doing?"

"Yeah, good, thanks."

"I can't keep up with mine. We must get them together for a play soon. Maybe this weekend after you've gone up to Casterford."

"Yeah."

If Harry noticed her sudden quietness, he did not show it. He chatted happily, filling the gaps with his own accounts of the work he'd been doing around Europe. Hermione smiled, but found her mind burning with a red cloud of shame, willing the meal to end.

When at last it did they parted warmly, deciding to meet at the weekend. It made Hermione feel even worse. The charade was harder to maintain the more people were around.

* * *

In his home in St James' Gardens, Lucius Malfoy had sat through lunchtime, not eating a thing. From his chair in the living room his father's portrait stared down at him with amused disdain, his mouth twisting into the cynical smirk Lucius had long associated with the autocratic bigot.

Lucius could stand it no more and found his eyes rising instinctively to meet his father's. The cold grey of Abraxas Malfoy's embittered stare at last provided his son with the motivation he had lacked after Hermione had left that morning. Pushing himself with force from the chair, he stormed from the room, reached for his outer robes and cane, and Disapparated.

* * *

**Let me know your thoughts if you wish and don't forget to check out the Smutastic Awards and remember me! I cannot tell you how much I would appreciate it. LL x**


	16. Chapter 16

**Here we are, my darlings ... Please, please read these AN.**

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**So, this is a different chapter to the others, but vital. There is even a bit of humour - we all need some light relief every so often. The next chapter, as you will be able to imagine once you've read this one, is going to be VERY intense. I won't keep you waiting too long for it, although it is proving emotionally draining to write.**

**I will have another little Lumione treat for you all in the next day or so - a birthday present for one of my wonderful readers - keep an eye out for it - I think you may like! As I have said in my profile, I am more than happy to write little drabbles and one-shots for special occasions for you all - it is the least I can do for all the support I get from you. Just PM me.**

**And again, sorry sorry sorry for not responding to all reviews personally. I simply cannot because of time and the fact that this site no longer allows you to easily track whom you have responded to. Very frustrating. But, as I keep saying - I read them all several times over and greatly appreciate all your comments. **

**OK, I'll shut up now. _Sense of Taste_, Chapter Sixteen ...**

* * *

Hermione and Lucius met as usual on Wednesday. Once again, their time was shared mainly between the bedroom and library. Once again, their love-making varied between the intense need to inhabit each other as soon as she crossed his threshold to a simple, almost chaste kiss bestowed before she departed.

They no longer discussed doubt. They no longer discussed reason. They simply came together.

Narcissa Malfoy continued to exist as Lucius' wife. She had a lover of her own who kept her distracted and satisfied. She and her husband still entertained at home. The guests passing through Malfoy Manor acknowledged that Lucius was better company than usual. It was generally accepted that this was probably due to a mistress. In the still barren emotional landscape of pureblood society, appearance was all that mattered, and there were still a master and mistress of Malfoy Manor. Nothing else needed to be questioned.

For Hermione, besides the first part of Wednesdays, domestic life continued. Her children developed and grew, and Hermione had by now divided her two existences completely. The one depended on the other for its continuance, but they never crossed, never converged. Ron and she would still occasionally sleep together. She did so with perfect decorum and integrity. They bickered less. Her deceit was now so easy that she had almost forgotten she was doing anything wrong.

It was easy to forget.

* * *

At the end of the week Hermione took a day to visit Casterford.

To the casual observer it was a charming village, set deep in the heart of Borrowdale in the Lake District, its rows of cottages lining the road beside the river.

Hermione had Apparated to the opposite bank and crossed the stone bridge, her eyes scanning the neat roofs, the smoke, curling up from the chimneys to mix with the thin mist, casting a faded translucency over the mountains rising beyond.

A woman passed her, dressed in robes and a drooping hat which tapered to a point. There was no doubting her magical heritage, but she gave Hermione a warm smile and greeted her with a jolly, "Good morning," before carrying on her way.

A tabby cat approached as she reached the other end of the bridge, curling its way around her legs and purring loudly, inquiring after affection. Hermione took a moment to reach down to stroke it, attracting the interest of an elderly man smoking a long pipe. The wizard sauntered out of his doorway and chuckled at the site.

"Found someone else to pester, has she? It's always the way." He shooed the animal on with a cheery jostle and walked on past Hermione.

The warm welcome and cosy friendliness of the place did nothing to arouse any suspicion in Hermione whatsoever. If anything, the village exuded a positive magic which she could almost feel tingling her fingertips.

Her eyes ran over the line of buildings before her, their roof lines veering haphazardly up and down as if traced by the undeveloped hand of a young child. There was a tea shop and a small post office which clearly doubled as a general store. Apart from that all the other buildings were residential; but the hanging baskets and neatly manicured shrubs in the doorways cried out decorative propriety rather than dark magic.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione chose the tea shop. That seemed as good a place as any to begin. The bell attached to the door jangled with a bright clarity, announcing her arrival, and almost immediately a stout woman in a dark purple smock robe appeared from a room at the back. She looked to be in her fifties, but with her dry bushy hair and calloused hands, personal appearance was clearly not a priority; she may well have been younger. The woman approached, wiping her hands on an apron, and beamed at Hermione as she entered. Of all the lines creasing her face it was the laughter lines which were the deepest set.

"Hello, my dear. Table for one, or have you just mislaid your other half for a while?" The woman chuckled at her own humour.

"No, just me today," smiled Hermione, glancing around the quaint tea shop. China pots adorned every surface available, including on the low beams which brushed even the top of Hermione's head. The decorations on some of the china moved and rippled around the outside. There was hardly room for anything else with all the niknaks, but Hermione managed to squeeze into the chair indicated by the witch and sit at the lace-covered table. There seemed to be more sugar pots and small jugs containing unidentifiable ingredients than there was surface space.

"There's our menu, my love, scones fresh out of the oven, jam made by my sister down in the valley. Oh, and the toasted teacakes go down a treat too, so I'm told." More rotund chuckling. Hermione smiled.

"I'll just have a pot of Earl Grey, please."

"Nothing to eat?" The woman was still smiling but her eyes had emptied quickly, she was clearly mildly affronted that her culinary skills would not be sampled.

"No, thank you. I really mustn't."

The woman grinned benignly. "I understand. Mustn't spoil that lovely figure of yours. Hang on a mo ... I know you, don't I? Well, blow me down with a phoenix feather - it's Hermione Granger, isn't it? Bessie! Bessie! Come and see who we've got in our shop! None other than everyone's favourite war heroine, Hermione Granger!"

Hermione's heart sank as another slightly younger but equally large witch appeared in the doorway, this one dressed in turquoise robes which would have been dazzling in their garishness had they had not been dulled with an excess dusting of flour.

"Merlin! I can't believe my eyes! You're right, Hettie, it is!"

Hermione managed to keep smiling. She did not think it was worth putting them right about her change of name, not wishing especially to extend the conversation. However, the two witches did it for her.

"We are honoured, I must say. It's not every day we get someone famous round here. What brings you to Casterford, Miss Granger?" The women had bustled in around Hermione such that she felt almost claustrophobic. Still, they were happy to talk; she realised that they may well provide her with some interesting information.

"Oh, just visiting for a day. I'd heard about how lovely it was here."

"How did you get here? There is a portkey but it's rarely active or reliable. Most people walk or fly in over long distances."

"I Apparated."

There was a synchronised crowing of approval.

"Oooh, fancy that – Apparition. How clever! I can't do that. Can you do that, Hettie?"

"Noooo."

"No, we can't do that. Makes you all dizzy, doesn't it?"

"A little."

"Anyone with you today then?" The women stepped in again, their noses twitching with expectation, their eyes widening in anticipated delight. Hermione scraped her chair back a little.

"No, as I said ..."

"You haven't brought along that Mr Potter?"

"No. Like I said before, I'm on my own."

Their faces fell.

"Oh."

"Shame."

"Yes. Shame."

"Or the other one – the funny looking one with red hair?"

"That would be my husband."

The witches glanced at each other, their faces blanching with the realisation that they may have just insulted one of the most famous witches of all time.

"Oh. Nice lad."

"Yes, of course ... nice lad."

"Not here then?"

"No. I'm on my own ... still." She glanced from one to the other. "But I am rather thirsty."

With a sudden show of manic activity, the witches jostled each other. "Bessie! Tea, tea, the lady wanted tea. What are you waiting for?"

"How was I to know, Bessie? I'm not a Legilimens."

Bessie duly disappeared into the kitchen while Hettie remained in view of Hermione, removing a wand and pointing it at various objects which lifted themselves off the shelves and descended to her hands where she inspected and breathed on them, occasionally dusting them off with the sleeve of her robe. She interrupted her work frequently to glance at Hermione and smile with an exaggerated show of familiarity.

"So ... is this a busy time of year for you?" Hermione offered. Hettie beamed that she had initiated the dialogue.

"Oh, yes, quite hectic at times! And we don't always disguise the village from Muggles. Every other day it appears for them and we make sure everything is uncharmed. There are memory charms at the entrances to the village which makes them forget that it isn't here on the other days! Still, they're very welcome to spend their money while they're here!" She gave Hermione an exaggerated conspiratorial wink.

"But they'll be spending Sterling, not Galleons."

"No, but it's easily enough exchanged, my dear, especially in this day and age. After the Dark Lord was well and truly defeated thanks to Mr Potter, and you of course, we are much closer to the Muggle world, aren't we?"

Hermione was intrigued by the openness of the village. How did a place with such an accepting attitude to Muggles become the centre of a resurgence in the Dark Arts? It was hard to believe. She ventured further.

"Is everyone here happy to welcome Muggles to the village?"

"Yes, on the whole."

"On the whole?"

"Well, there are always one or two mumblings and murmurings, but we just ignore them. "

By now Bessie had returned with the tea and placed it with a beaming smile of pride before Hermione. "There we are. Best china for you."

Hermione smiled warmly. "This is fantastic. Thank you." She poured herself some tea. The two women leaned over to judge her reaction. "Lovely, just what I needed." The women beamed at each other with a pride equal to having just delivered a baby. Hermione continued. "And what about wizards? Do you get a lot of outside visitors from the magical world?"

"Yes. Quite a few retire round here, of course, and some come on holiday with their families."

"Any foreigners?" Hermione asked as innocently as she could.

"Sometimes."

"That's great, isn't it? I bet they love it in here."

The women laughed again.

"Yes. We had that fellow in just the other day, didn't we, Bess? He was foreign, wasn't he?"

"I think he was. Could hardly understand what he was saying."

"Really? Sounds funny." Hermione leaned forward to look interested, as indeed she genuinely was.

"Didn't stay long but he was very kind and, oh, so charming! Kissed my hand he did; fair made me blush, I can tell you."

"Why do you think he was foreign?"

"Well, he spoke funny, didn't he? Strange accent."

"How exciting! And what did he look like?" Hermione stirred her tea, storing every detail of the seemingly inconsequential conversation.

"Tall. Dark hair. Long robes. Not like any I've seen before. Funny eyes. Do you remember his eyes, Hettie?"

"Oooh yes, piercing they were."

"Yes, that's right, piercing they were."

"Piercing."

"Ooh yes."

"Was he alone?" Hermione's question was more abrupt than she intended.

"No. He was with Rufus Moorstone from the old mill."

"I see. He was staying with him, do you think?"

"Maybe. Funny chap is Rufus. Doesn't get out much. Surprised he made it down to us, really. Didn't say much, did he, Bess?"

"Nah – never does, does Rufus. He's one of those who's not too keen on Muggles in the village. Miserable bugger. Ooh! Excuse my language, Miss Granger!"

Hermione smiled. "Don't worry."

"But that foreign fella he was with – right chatterbox! Kept asking us about how long we'd been here, whether we were happy in the village, how we all got on in the village, how many people came by here, whether we opened at night ... all kind of thing ..."

"Yeah, but then Rufus was getting all agitated, do you remember? He said it was best they went up the road to the Falcon's Rest."

"The Falcon's Rest?"

"It's a pub up the road towards the mountain. Mile up the road. You can only get to it on foot or broom. Don't think you could even Apparate up to there, pet. It's for the menfolk, really. We hardly ever set foot in it, do we, Bess?"

"No, can't remember the last time I was there. Some of the elder women of the village go there of an evening. I don't care for it myself."

"Why's that?"

"Wouldn't like to say, Miss Granger. But you know what they say about these places."

"No, I don't."

The women had backed off now and were suddenly more subdued. "Well, there's rumours of dealings and the like, you know."

"What sort of dealings?"

"Well, I suppose I can tell you ..." She glanced at her friend for consent before leaning in and whispering to Hermione, " ... _dark_ dealings."

"Really?" Hermione feined surprise. "In a lovely place like this?"

"Hm. Well, best not talk about it. That's why we keep well away, and if you were sensible, which I know you are, my dear, so would you. If that foreign gentleman wants to go there, so be it, but it's no place for the likes of us."

Hermione was enervated. She finished her tea quickly. "That sounds like very good advice. Well, I must be on my way. Thank you so much for the lovely tea. It was a pleasure to meet you both." She stood and extended her hand to them. They looked aghast that she was leaving so suddenly and stared at her hand in incomprehension for a time.

"Won't you stay a little longer?"

"No, I really must be going, thank you."

Reluctantly the witches shook her hand, gripping it so firmly Hermione feared they would break a bone.

"You will come back and see us soon, won't you, pet?"

"I would like to very much. I'll bring my children next time."

"Ooohh! Children! How many?" They were pushing up against Hermione yet again. She pressed some money into their hands for the tea and backed hurriedly towards the door.

"Err ... two."

"Boy? Girl?"

"One of each."

"How lovely! Names?"

"I really must go. Bye for now!"

With the clatter of the bell she was out. She hurried up the street, vaguely aware of the two witches standing in the doorway behind waving her off frantically.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. They had been lovely people and had provided her with some vital information, but it had become stifling in the shop and she gratefully inhaled the air and space around her.

It was by now half past eleven. She went into the post office which clearly doubled as a general store. There was a short wizard with thick glasses behind the counter. He peered at her intently as she entered but still managed a smile. Hermione bought a postcard of some village children on the bridge, which moved to show them throwing a twig into the river to play Pooh Sticks.

"Good morning. I'm visiting the area for the day; can you recommend anywhere to have lunch?"

"The tea shop is always welcoming," grinned the man, revealing several gaps in his gums.

"Yes, they were lovely, I just had tea there, but it would be nice to try somewhere else."

"Nowhere else particular round here."

"I heard there was a pub up the hill."

The man shrugged slightly and concentrated on the change he was counting, retreating quickly into himself.

"The Falcon's Rest?"

"Don't do much trade by day." He was now no longer looking at her.

"But they will serve food at lunchtime?"

"I suppose. There's your money, Miss. Good day."

It was clear she was being abruptly dismissed.

"Thank you." She tried to smile at the man, but he had turned his back on her and disappeared into his store room.

Hermione left the Post Office and stood looking around the village. It was still a bright clear day, but despite the largely warm welcome she had received, the happy atmosphere she had felt on first arriving had shifted slightly and there was now an unease to the place which she could not pinpoint.

Looking up the road towards the mountain, Hermione buttoned up her coat and set off.

The path became progressively harder to ascend. The neat trail gave way to large rocks and scree which had fallen down onto it. Hermione found herself having to pick her way carefully, hauling herself over the larger stones as she went. At length she smelt wood smoke and looking up could see the roof of a stone building ahead of her. As she approached, a rather desolate and shabby pub came fully into view. It was perched precariously on the side of the hill with a drop down over rocks and gorse not far from the door. Outside hung a weather-beaten sign creaking in the wind which by now was whipping around the mountainside: _The Falcon's Rest_.

There was not the customary jabber of happy drinkers which usually greeted an incomer on approach to a pub. Instead, stony silence. Hermione wondered if in fact the place was shut.

She placed her hand on the well-worn latch and pushed down. The wooden door resisted her efforts at first but then opened with spiteful ease. Hermione almost fell in.

Inside, seated around a desultory table near a fire were a couple of men. The other bare wooden tables were unoccupied. Behind the bar stood another man, presumably the landlord, tankard in hand, cloth in the other. They all froze when Hermione entered and stared at her with dark, trenchant eyes.

These people were quite unlike anyone else she had seen in the village so far. Hermione's immediate instinct was to reach for her wand.

The inside of the pub was gloomy; the smoke from the fire was escaping from the fireplace and floating through the room, mixing with the pipe-smoke snaking from the mouths of the two men seated there.

The men glanced across at each other as she stood in the doorway and then proceeded to simply stare at her. With lank hair and dressed in long, dirty robes, they clutched their pipes in fingers topped with filthy nails. The hollow eyes, set deep within gaunt faces stretched over sharp bones, continued to penetrate into Hermione.

With a shiver of determination, she forced her attention over to the barman and, shutting the door behind her, made her way to the bar.

"Hello. Are you serving lunch?" Her voice rang through the thick dark atmosphere, startling even her with its bright directness.

The barman had started polishing the tankard again. He eyed her for some time before answering. "What sort of thing do you want?"

"Just a sandwich or something. And some beer."

"I can do ham or beef."

"Ham would be great. Thank you."

"Drink?"

"I'll have a pint of this, please."

She had inadvertently ordered the strongest ale from the selection. The barman sneered but pulled her a pint and placed it on the bar.

"Five Galleons."

Hermione opened her mouth to query it. That was a ridiculous price. But catching the barman's eye she thought better of it and paid up.

She sat near the bar, away from the other men. They didn't look as if they would be in much mood for conversation.

"You must get lots of walkers coming in here," she inquired of the barman.

He shrugged. "I'll get yer food."

There seemed very little point to asking anything surreptitiously. All the occupants of the place were already deeply suspicious of her. She needed information, she was on official business; she would have to simply come out with what she needed.

The barman returned with her food. Hermione felt a pang of hunger and decided he may give her more information if he became more accustomed to her presence. The sandwich was dry and consisted solely of bread, a smattering of butter and a few gnarly pieces of ham. She found herself taking great swigs of the beer to wash it down. The other two men stared hard at her the entire time.

But emboldened by the alcohol, she approached the bar again once she had finished.

"Do you know a man called Rufus Moorstone?"

The barman didn't look up. "Who's asking?"

She pursed her lips. "You know who I am and you probably also know that I work for the Ministry. Rufus Moorstone."

"Lives down the other side of the village."

"Does he drink in here regularly?"

"Could say that."

"Alone?"

"Sometimes."

"He came in here the other day with someone else. Dark haired man – long black robes. Did you know the man he was with?"

The barman eyed her, clearly reluctant to answer.

"I am here representing the Minister for Magic." Hermione held his stare.

"I've seen him once or twice before."

"Is he local?"

"No."

"English?"

"No."

"Where is he from?"

The barman shrugged.

"What sort of accent did he have?"

"From the east of Europe, Russia, something like that."

"How long did they stay here?"

"An hour, maybe more. Sat over there, talking."

"Did you hear anything they were talking about?"

The barman shook his head.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. I serve the drinks. I clean up the mess. That's it."

Hermione stared hard at him. It was clear that he would say no more whether he knew or not.

She turned to leave.

"They weren't alone."

She looked back at him. He continued with a sneer, still wiping a tankard. "Someone else came in and sat with them after a while. Having a right good chinwag they all were. Couldn't hear him either, mind, so don't bother asking."

"What did this other man look like? Was he local?"

The barman scoffed. "Local! Not this one! I'd know him anywhere though. Famous. Notorious ..." He finished with an envious sneer, "Rich."

Hermione swallowed hard. Her mouth had suddenly dried up. "Go on."

"Tall, black robes, had some sort of walking stick with him, long hair past his shoulders, white blond hair ... I remember him from the papers, recognised him instantly ... Death Eater ..." He eyed Hermione with a sneer, almost as if he could sense her terror. " ... Malfoy."

* * *

**Oh dear.**

**The next chapter will be ... intense. Sorry for the lack of sex in this one. Their hips needed a bit of a rest.**

**Don't forget about the Smutastic Awards - pop over to my profile for the link. xxxxxxxxxx And you can still review if you want too! ;) Golly, I'm so demanding.**


	17. Chapter 17

**OK, so I promise never to make vain promises I cannot keep ever again! I thought this one would follow hard on the heels of the previous chapter, but life and work and lack of time conspired against me. SORRYYYYYY! However, it is here at last, and I hope it is worth the wait. Things are getting rather intense.**

**As for requests etc. Don't worry - I haven't forgotten about you at all! But I went back to work at the beginning of this month and am just shattered in the evenings. I simply have not had the energy to write all the things I so desperately want to write. I've only been able to get this sorted as I'm off sick! But I will get to you all in due course ... you may simply have to wait a little longer, even for belated birthday presents. Apologies again.**

**Thank you also for the reviews and comments. Again, no time to respond in person to everyone, but THANK YOU! Your words mean so much to me.**

**And, in case you hadn't heard, _Discovering Beauty_ came in as First Runner-Up in the LJ Smutastic Awards, which I am thrilled about. I assumed these things would be won by people who had a strong LJ presence, which I haven't had until very recently (well, even now, it is hardly that strong!). My success in the awards is due entirely to all of you who took the time to vote and in some cases, join LJ for the first time. I cannot thank you enough. If you do enjoy my stories, I would recommend friending me on LJ. I sometimes post things there that I don't post elsewhere, and comment on all things in my usual half-crazed way! (Well, mainly Lucius things really!) You'll find the links etc on my profile page. (My LJ page is my 'homepage' as listed on my profile.)**

**Ooh - and another thing! I just put a new poll on my profile page - just out of curiosity. It's fun to vote, isn't it? Go on, you know you want to. It's at the top of my profile page.**

**Can't remember if I mentioned this before or not, but I really do think of U2's 'With Or Without You' when I write this, this chapter more than ever. Obvious choice really, but so so right and beautiful.**

**OK, enough waffle ... read on ...**

**LLx**

* * *

Hermione did not stay any longer in Casterford.

She went home. She cooked dinner, she put the children to bed, she stared at the television, she felt Ron kiss her goodnight.

Her mind was numb, as if part of it had been switched off: the part which would show indignation or shock, the part which would ensure she saw that things must end, that her life was on the edge of a steep hill. She could take the few steps which would send her careening down towards an unknown doom or step gently back while she still had the chance.

She was due to meet Lucius on Wednesday. It was Friday.

The weekend came. Still her mind had not given her a solution. She went shopping and took the children swimming. They saw Harry and Ginny on Sunday. Hermione was struck at how normal life was – how everyone continued to exist, eating, laughing, drinking. But there was something at odds. And still she carried on.

Wednesday grew closer. She thought perhaps it would be delayed, that whatever gods there were would pull it away, not to deny it to her, but to at least grant her the deceit of normality.

But time passed and Wednesday morning dawned. She found herself in her usual position, alone in the house after returning from dropping the children off. At this stage she would normally Disapparate to St James' Gardens.

She did.

Hermione had stopped processing reason and recrimination. She simply did what her body instructed her to do.

She rang the doorbell, no different to normal.

Lucius answered, and she walked in, going into the living room.

He came and stood behind her but did not touch her. The awareness of change could be felt on the air around them.

She turned to him. "I went to Casterford."

There was not even a flicker in his eyes. He said nothing.

"How long have you been dealing with Kresvidyev?" She carried little discernible emotion in her voice.

Silence. He inhaled deeply through his nose. "Approximately three months."

A sudden laugh slipped through her. His candour took her by surprise.

"And how have you been helping him?"

She did not expect him to respond, but again he did, with immediacy and frankness. "Finance, connections, very little if you really must know."

Hermione stood impassively. They may as well have been discussing a business meeting.

"Why?"

"He belongs to a world very familiar to me: a world I was brought up in."

"He could be as dangerous as Voldemort." Her voice remained oddly detached, but behind the hard eyes her inherent fury, her indignation, was brewing.

"I doubt it. He is simply working to protect pureblood values in a turbulent world."

Hermione felt her heart shrivel within her. Was it the detail of his confession which enraged her so, or the fact that he was sharing his sentiments with her so freely, with no compunction?

"And that's still something worth fighting for, is it?"

He simply looked at her, the light darkening in his eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly.

"He is evil, Lucius." She spoke with direct harshness. "We have evidence of atrocities committed by him and his people in Eastern Europe against half-bloods and Muggle-borns."

"I am not interested in that."

She stepped sharply into him, her anger drawn to a head. "How dare you feign such indifference? You shall be! You shall be interested when children die due to an act of terrorism funded by your blood money!"

He held himself tall and looked down at her steadily over the fine bridge of his nose. "Despite the intricate workings and investigations of the Intelligence division of your beloved Ministry, they are mistaken: there is no act of terrorism planned for this country."

"Oh, right. So you haven't had to kill for him yet then?"

His eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to her. "How crude you are. Your attitude does little to shift my opinions."

Her hand came up quite suddenly and slapped him hard around the face.

For a moment he hardly reacted. She wanted him to react. She hit him again, harder this time, just like that first time she had come to him, resenting his passivity.

His hand was at her neck before she could react. She was pushed hard back against the wall. He did not cut off her air, but his hold on her denied her movement. Hermione could feel each one of his fingers as it dug in a little to her flesh, hot and tactile. His eyes flared and he brought his face within a breath of hers.

"You will not strike me again."

She stared at him, her nostrils wide, her eyes dilated with rage. She could feel them filling with hot tears, tears of despair and confusion and hopelessness. Lucius frowned a little but did not remove his hand. His eyes poured over her face, taking in the reddening cheeks, the wide eyes, the tears about to brim over. Her full lips were parted and she sucked in short sharp breaths.

His left hand still grasped around her neck, immobilising her, constricting so sweetly, yet not enough to prevent breath. And then his other hand came up and with it he touched her cheek with the back of his forefinger, the softest, lightest caressing touch. On it he caught the first tear which fell. He stopped his caress, feeling the thick wetness spread across his finger and seep into the flesh.

"What are you doing to me? What are you doing to me?" She was whispering, asking the question of herself as much as him.

"You ask that of me, Mudblood?" His words were soft with dark confusion. He remained in that position, one hand on her throat, the other stroking her face with more adoration than ever before.

"Lucius ... you are destroying me ... I no longer know who I am ..."

"No ... no, witch, it is I who am destroyed ... torn apart by this ... you are tearing me apart and yet ... without you I cannot breathe."

She was crying uncontrollably now, tears falling unstoppably down her cheeks and onto his hand.

"Why ... why, Lucius ... why now?"

"Do you not know?"

She shook her head as best she could. His eyes searched her face, returning always to her eyes. She looked through the grey into his very soul.

"Every day, every hour when I am not with you, I am further ripped, destroyed ... and I need to forget ... I need to blot out the agony ... bury myself in the only other thing I know ... allegiance to something so distanced from you, so far from your beauty and your truth and your power ... because it is the only thing that makes me forget ... forget that I cannot have you."

Hermione released a deep gasping sob.

"When you are here it is all that matters, all that need matter ... and for some time that was enough, but no longer, Mudblood ... I want you all the time. I want all of you, everywhere, and I cannot have you ... Do you know how that eats at me? ... That you go home to someone else, that you eat with him and talk with him and sleep with him and fuck him ... that you are not mine ... I need to forget, I need to remember who I am ... who I am supposed to be ..."

"Lucius ..."

Still his hand was on her throat, still his fingers caressed her cheek. But then the hand dropped and she knew he was releasing himself. And, in her usual way on a Wednesday, even this Wednesday, she wore no underwear. He lifted her dress quickly; she parted her legs instantly and, tightening his grip on her throat ever so slightly, he was inside her.

She sobbed: complete again, alive again, pushing down, clenching her body upon him.

He began to move, that deep slow assurance of his presence, rendered even more affirming by his hold around her neck. One leg rose up along his thigh, easing him into her yet more.

Her hands held him so tightly she knew she was hurting.

"Faster. Please don't stop, please don't stop, please don't stop. I can't live without you, _I can't live without you_. More, more, please, _please_, faster, faster, inside me, inside me, inside me ..." Her thoughts were breathed into him in sobs, caught amidst the ever-falling tears.

Lucius was moving desperately now, grunts of despairing desire caught low in his throat with each plunge up into her. Still his hand held her neck. If it caused her discomfort or anxiety she did not notice. He was with her, he was in her. She could have it no other way. His mouth had moved to her throat now and he opened it wide, sinking his teeth in, just enough to cause her to cry out with the sharp surprise of pleasure.

"Lucius, Lucius, Lucius ... come into me, come into me always ..." And still she was crying.

He pushed perfectly along her once again, rubbing both her clit and that place inside that bound her to him. They came together, the intensity of their climaxes rendering them oblivious to all but the pleasure of each other. Lucius' groan was muffled against her throat, hot and damp. Hermione opened her mouth and released a noise of such abandon and despair it sounded inhuman.

Afterwards, still joined, they sank to the floor.

Hermione turned her head, her body still heaving with sobs. "How can I do this? How can I live like this? What's happening to me? _What's happening to me?"_ But through her words she clung to the man still inside her. When she felt his hands reaching under her, she slipped her arms around his neck and, as had happened so many times before, allowed him to carry her up the stairs and into bed.

Lucius stood her in the room, silently at first, wiping the remains of tears from her eyes solemnly until her face was dry again. Gently and carefully, he removed her clothes, and amidst her numb mind, Hermione wondered for a moment if he would bind her as he had previously. She stood quite passively, wanting anything he would deliver. She was his. Here, now, she was always his, no matter what he was.

But Lucius simply removed all her clothes and his and moved her over to the bed, lying her down and placing his long body beside her, curling his limbs around hers and holding her close.

"What now, Lucius?"

"We carry on. There is no other way."

"What am I supposed to say to Kingsley?"

"You must do as you need to do."

"But that would mean reporting you. And even if I didn't, someone else will soon go up to Casterford and find out the same thing."

"I do not see how anything can be proven from one chat in an inn."

"You will be questioned."

"It will not be the first time."

"What? Even since your trial?"

"Yes. The Ministry keeps a very close eye on me. You should know that."

She did know it. She had chosen to forget.

"I have to do my job."

"Then do it. This is hardly the same as the situation after the Department of Mysteries."

"I don't want you to go to prison."

"Neither do I."

"Aren't you scared?"

"I have only ever been scared when I thought my son was slipping from me."

She looked up at him. "What am I supposed to do, Lucius? What am I supposed to do?"

"Carry on."

"They may arrest you."

"They have no evidence for an arrest. I have done nothing wrong."

"Financially aiding a criminal."

He gave a rueful smile, his muted arrogance still underlying it. "It will be very difficult to prove any transfer of funds. I have ensured that. And even if they did - they have no hard evidence against him anyway. I know that."

"You've told me you have given money."

"But you will not tell them that."

_No, she wouldn't. _

He continued. "In any case, they, and you, know that it is not something I would admit to you unless ..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless I trusted you."

She stared into him. His low voice continued. "And why would I ever trust you ... Hermione Granger?"

She held his gaze, his eyes at once terrifying and reassuring.

"I'm so tired."

"Sleep." He curled his arm around her and stroked her hair.

"I have to pick the children up."

"You must arrange for someone else to do it. I want you to stay here tonight."

"I want that too, so much."

"Then you must."

"No. No, I can't ... I can't do that."

"When are you expected?"

"Half past three."

"You will delay it at least. You must sleep now; you must sleep here with me."

"Yes. Yes, my darling." She turned to him blearily, stroking his face before reality pressed down on her. She tried to push herself up. "I have to make a phone call. I need to get my bag."

"Stay there." Lucius drew her down onto the bed again, summoning his wand and waving it. After only a few moments, Hermione's bag floated through the door and landed on the bed. She reached in for her phone and with barely a hesitation dialled a number.

"Kate? Hi, it's Hermione. Listen, I'm going to be delayed this afternoon. Would you mind picking the kids up for me? I know it's a pain with Hugo at nursery. Ron's at work till five, but he can collect them from you then." She went quiet, listening to the voice on the end of the line, and glanced at Lucius. "No, I know, I'm sorry. Please, Kate, please. I can't tell you that. But I need you to do this for me. Only today, only today, please ..." Her eyes were closed in desperation, her lips pursed tightly as she listened to the tense tones of her friend. "Just tell him I am visiting my aunt and that the doctor's coming over. Please. I need you to do this. I need you to so much. Just today. Just for today." She was sounding desperate: desperate and pathetic. But she didn't care. Her friend reluctantly agreed. She knew Kate realised she was acting as a cover for her affair. She felt awkwardness, but after a glance at Lucius, was aware also that she still felt no shame.

She turned back to Lucius after ending the call then dialled another number. "He probably won't pick up. He never has it on. In which case I'll have to owl." She bit her nails, listening to the ring tone. "Ron? Oh, hi."

Lucius turned his head away. Hermione moved her back to him. Speaking to her husband in the presence of her lover at last forced her stomach to heave. "Umm ... I've had to go to Aunt Jane's. She's really not well again. The doctor's coming at four. What? Err ... no ... just flu, but she's suffering with it ... umm ... but I'm going to have to stick around until after the doctor's been and then make sure she's comfortable. Kate's picking the kids up, but can you make sure you're back by five? Thanks. That's great. I'll be back as soon as I can, but, you know, it may take a while. Bye."

She hung up. Her phone fell from her hand onto the bed beside her. Shame at last rose scarlet up her face. Her betrayal was complete. She had lied to her husband from her lover's bed: the lover who had confessed to aiding a known Dark wizard murderer.

A hand was placed on her shoulder, fingers stroked slowly down her arm, each moment of touch concentrated in her mind. Lips were now at her neck, soothing over the bruises of his fingers, the marks left by his teeth.

Lucius moved her back onto the bed. She stared blankly ahead of her, but her words rose instinctively into the air. "I love you. In spite of myself, I love all that you are."

Her eyes closed, her arm came up to grip his head and hold him there. He whispered against her ear. "I want you to sleep now. It is only eleven. You have hours with me. Close your mind and sleep."

He lay her down again and nestled beside her. Hermione's mind dulled, her breathing grew heavy. _So tired._ She willed herself to sleep. But it was not enough. Her body was unsettled – it protested. She pressed herself back against him, rejoicing in his long physical presence, needing more of it.

"I cannot sleep without you inside me. Come inside me. Please, Lucius, I must have you inside me always."

He was hard anyway, but had ignored it in order to grant her her sleep. But now, he lifted her leg a little and eased slowly into her from behind. Hermione's sigh escaped slowly as her body at last achieved completion and contentment.

Lucius did not move. He would not allow himself to come, knew she did not wish to either. She simply wanted to know he was there, feeling him filling her. Every so often, he would push in again, reinforcing his presence within her, allowing himself a little surge of pleasure to maintain his erection.

And so she fell asleep, her lover deep and hard within her.

* * *

**So ... the calm before the storm ...?**

**They are both in so, so deep.**

**Reviews are much loved. Then go and vote in my new poll (top of profile page). -) LL xxx**


	18. Chapter 18

**NB! PLEASE VOTE IN MY MALE/FEMALE POLL ON MY PROFILE!**

**Ah me. Yes, miracles do happen, and so, after many months, here is another chapter. Thank you, my lovely loyal readers for bearing with me and sticking with this story. Believe me, it is not for lack of want that it has lain dormant for so long, simply lack of enough passionate drive to write it to the standard I desire. This is a big chapter and significant. I know where this story is going and I know where it will end. It is simply a question of getting it out of my head in a way which pleases me and you (and Lucius, most importantly ... ;-)**

**To make up for the long wait, I have another little treat in store for you in a day or so, sort of a sister story to 'Touch' and 'Hallelujah', although possibly not in the way you think. It's another Broken!Lucius fic. Dontcha just love him like that? My muse plays games with me sometimes. I shall also be posting the fic I wrote for Lucius Big Bang on LJ last year. Heaven knows why I haven't posted it yet. I think I just forgot. Oops! ALSO! I have been working on a fic I'm very excited about. It's my first crossover and (predictably, perhaps) it's a Captain Hook/Hermione/Lucius fic. It may sound contrived, but I sincerely hope it isn't. I think it makes sense and that it'll work quite well. It's rather yummy so far. It should be ready to start to be posted very soon.  
**

**So, keep your eyes peeled and, also, pop over to LJ (links on my profile) where you'll find lots of chat and discussion about all my little fantasies ...**

**Now, as it's been so long, here goes ... (cue cheesy voiceover)  
**

**_'Previously on 'The Sense of Taste' ... Hermione and Lucius are engaged in an intensely passionate extra-marital affair. She is working for the Ministry and has been tasked with investigating an emerging Dark wizard, Ivan Kresvidyev. She returns from a trip to the small magical village of Casterford where she discovered that Kresvidyev met with Lucius. She confronts Lucius on this and he admits that he has been aiding Kresvidyev financially, partially because he is trying to blot out the fact that Hermione is not truly his. As much as the revelation devastates Hermione, she knows she cannot do without him and through a bout of intense, passionate sex, they once again affirm their undying need for each other ...'_**

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Her children were in the bath when she returned home. Bright laughter and the occasional squeal of sibling frustration floated down to her in the hallway as she opened the door. She was relieved that it made her smile, that she wanted to go upstairs and see them.

Putting down her bag, Hermione let her feet bear her up.

"Mummy!" Rose stood up out of the bath immediately, dripping, and before Ron could barely throw a towel over her, rushed over to embrace her.

"Oooh, wet wet wet!" Hermione laughed. It didn't matter. She knelt and hugged her daughter so hard the little girl squawked as the breath was squeezed from her.

"Mummy! Can't breathe!" Rose giggled with exaggerated suffering. Her mother relaxed her grip and instead smothered her in kisses.

"Sorry, sweetie. Did you have a good evening?"

Rose nodded proudly. "I had homework! Colouring. Daddy said it was brilliant. I haven't done my reading yet. Will you hear me?"

"Of course. Brush teeth and into bed now."

Her concentrated dialogue with Rose had given Hermione a welcome distraction from Ron. He had been standing close by, arms crossed. Slowly, she stood and gave him a weak smile. "Sorry I'm late. All OK?"

"Yeah. Aunt Jane better?"

"She'll be OK." Hermione turned to smile broadly at Hugo, still splashing in the water. "How's my little fellow?" Her son beamed at her.

"She seems to be ill a lot at the moment." His voice was flat. Hermione tensed but continued to grin exaggeratedly at her son.

"Well, you know that once you've had a virus your body is weakened and open to further infection."

"You sound like a bloody GP!"

She tutted. "Don't swear in front of the children."

"Kate was a bit narky when I picked the kids up."

"I'm sorry. I'll give her a ring."

Ron sighed. "Sorry, love, I just never seem to see you now that you're back at work. I thought you had Wednesday afternoons off."

"Yes, but you know time just gets eaten up with all these other little things." She paused before adding, "I'm sorry."

"I don't know what we're doing for supper. Do you wanna get a take-away?"

"No, it's OK. I'll make some pasta or something."

Ron gave a surprised smile, rubbing her back. It reminded her of a time before. "Oh, right," he smiled. "That would be nice." It was rare his wife cooked properly in the evenings now.

They busied themselves putting the children to bed. Hermione was grateful that she could direct her conversation to Rose and Hugo and not her husband.

When the lights were turned out she hurried downstairs ahead of Ron and poured herself a large glass of Rioja.

Already she missed him. As much as the cosy familiarity of her home and family provided her with a stable pulse, she missed him. Her body groaned with his absence. She took a gulp from the glass and an involuntary sob fell into it. She spluttered as the wine caught in her throat. Hermione leaned heavily on the counter, the same counter that she had leaned against so many weeks ago while Lucius had sucked from her. Clenching her fists, she pushed back and went to the fridge, pulling out bacon and tomatoes and onion.

Cooking focussed her mind somewhat.

Tomorrow she was due to report to Shacklebolt on her findings in Casterford.

She had still not decided exactly what to say. She would tell the truth as it would seem to her professionally. Lucius was right. Nothing could be gleaned from a conversation in a pub. His confidence eased her mind. She could do her job and he would remain safe.

She and Ron ate quietly, although the conversation between them seemed no different to normal. It was simply the exhausted, occasional chat of a busy couple. He was training a group of apprentices in Wales and the constant Apparition of commuting was tiring. Instinctively, Hermione was concerned for him.

"Why don't you use floo tomorrow?"

"We're meeting in the mountains. No bloody fireplaces, are there?"

"Any portkeys?"

"If there were, we'd have used them." Ron shrugged, spooning tagliatelle into his mouth.

When they'd finished, Hermione picked up his bowl and crossed to the sink. "Is there any pudding?" came the gruff query.

"No, you can have some fruit if you want."

He gave an ill-disguised tut then yawned loudly.

"You'd better go to bed early. You sound exhausted."

She was at the sink with her back turned. She heard the scrape of his chair being pushed back.

"Yeah, I'm knackered ... but not that knackered." Hands had slipped round her waist and pulled her back against him. She could feel him rising hard against her already. With a sudden disgust which dismayed her, she felt herself heave and swallowed to control it.

"Ron ..."

"Smell so good, babes ... come on ... it's been so long."

"Ron, really, it's been such a long day." She tried to reach for another plate, but he pulled her hands away and spun her around to him, reaching down to thrust his tongue into her mouth. She had to force herself not to pull away in revulsion. Her reaction to the feel of his body was as distressing as the sensation itself.

"Want you, want you ... here, Mione, want you to suck me, please, wanna come in your mouth ... go on, go on." He was pushing her down, only gently, but insistently. Hermione glanced down and saw the pale stiffness of his penis rising out from his open zip. It turned her stomach; the thought of taking him in her mouth was unquestionable.

"Ron, no ... not that, not now ... I'm just not in the mood ... just ... you can ... just do it normally, all right?"

Ron groaned in frustration, but as his wife lay on the kitchen floor and lifted her dress above her legs, this alternative was good enough. His eyes widened. "Fucking hell, Mione, since when did you give up wearing underwear?"

She had forgotten. "Oh, I just ... I meant to put on a clean pair when I came home and forgot. Sorry."

"Don't bloody apologise ... god, sweetheart, you are amazing. Shit, I'm gonna come, let me get in."

He pushed her legs apart roughly and pressed inside. Ron was clearly not in the mood to be attentive. He thrust haphazardly into her, their position on the hard kitchen floor making it impossible for her to enjoy the experience in any way. She and Lucius made love anywhere: on table tops, against doorways, on the staircase. No matter how uncomfortable the surroundings, with him, she always experienced complete pleasure. Now, she could not remember a time of such discomfort. Had it always been like this with her husband? She knew it had not.

Ron had taken a breast in his hand and was squeezing and rubbing it hard, pinching the nipple forcefully. "You like it dirty sometimes, don't you, babe? I remember. Do you like being taken on the floor, hey? On cold, hard stone?" He was plunging into her, causing her exposed spine to rub hard against the icy flagstones. He was trying. Several years ago, this would have turned her on. Not now.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to be with Lucius.

She moaned, hoping that if she convinced him she had come he would finish quickly. "That's good, that's good. Harder, Ron, harder."

Unfortunately, he obliged, thrusting so hard that she was pushed along the floor and banged her head on the chair leg. "Ow, fuck!" she hissed. He heard it only as another exclamation of pleasure. Hermione morphed her cry into a long faked moan of histrionic orgasm. With that sound, her husband came, shooting long and deep into her. She immediately resented the presence of his seed within her.

Ron collapsed on top of her, panting heavily. She grimaced, desperate for the seconds to pass so she could nudge him off without seeming completely disengaged.

He was in no hurry.

"Ron ... could you ... it's cold here ..."

"Sorry. Thanks, sweetness, beautiful as ever." He kissed her tenderly on the cheek and pulled out abruptly, standing and stretching with satisfaction. Guilt flooded her, but still she rose quickly and went to the shower, angling the water in the hope that it would wash away anything that was not Lucius.

As water cascaded over her face, she was barely aware of the tears pouring down with it.

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt shut the door carefully when she entered his office the next day.

"Hermione. Take a seat. How was Casterford?"

"Lovely. It's a beautiful place. Have you been?"

Shacklebolt smirked, glancing at her with query. He had not expected her to comment on the location.

"Not for many years. I don't recall it that well."

"It is a beautiful Lake District village which Muggles can occasionally see. A bit like Brigadoon really."

"Brigadoon?"

"The village that could only be seen every one hundred years. It had been cursed."

Shacklebolt chuckled, looking at her curiously. "You clearly know more about Muggle folklore than I do. So, Hermione ... you know what I mean - what did you find?"

She knew she could not hesitate.

"There was a pub. Out of the village, quite a hike up the hillside. Not a very friendly place, to be honest, quite different to the atmosphere in the valley. But the landlord talked freely enough. He told me a man fitting Kresvidyev's description had been there, talking to a man from the village called Rufus Moorstone."

"Did the landlord know Kresvidyev's name?"

"No. But he described him clearly enough. Here – I've written down the landlord's exact words." She waited while Shacklebolt perused the document. "Have you come across Rufus Moorstone before?"

"Yes. He goes back a long way. Right back to before the First Wizarding War. Always managed to keep his head down though. We could never really pin anything on him. Rumour has it he was just too incompetent for Voldemort. We had been keeping an eye on him. That might have slipped in recent years. Anything else?"

Hermione hesitated, swallowing hard. "Yes."

"Go on."

"Another man came in to join them, according to the landlord. Not a local."

"Did the landlord give you any description?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"Well-turned out, clearly wealthy. Dressed entirely in black. Blond hair. Long."

Shacklebolt's eyes glinted and he leaned forward in his seat. "Go on. Was the landlord able to give any more details?"

Hermione managed to disguise her flinch. "He said he recognised him."

"Did he give you a name?" She had never heard such anticipatory glee in Shacklebolt's voice.

Hermione forced back the bile rising in her throat and got it out as quickly as she could. "Malfoy."

Shacklebolt's smirked, a wide, deep smirk which turned Hermione's stomach. She had never seen him looking so smug. "My my ... it seems the leopard cannot change his spots after all."

The Minister inhaled in satisfaction and tapped his wand three times on the table. His secretary entered immediately.

"Get Lucius Malfoy in here for three o'clock. No questions, no excuses. Tell him it's a Ministry summons."

Hermione was burning up; she was sure it was visible on her face. She stared at the ground.

"You've done well, Hermione. I knew I could rely on you. Malfoy was never going to be able to keep himself clean. Old habits die hard. I knew I'd have him back in Azkaban while I was still in office."

"We don't know what they were discussing."

Shacklebolt scoffed. "I'll get him. Malfoy is a master of deceit and deception, but not under my watch. He will rot in prison where he belongs, and all his noble values with him!"

Hermione thought she would be sick. It was not only the prospect of her lover languishing in hell, but the sudden hatred igniting in Shacklebolt's eyes. Her world juddered before realigning itself out of kilter.

"That will be all until Malfoy gets here. Go and have some lunch, Hermione. I'll see you back here at three. Good work, very good work." He leaned over and shook her hand. "Together, we'll bring that bastard down."

Hermione pulled her hand from his grasp and walked swiftly from his office.

She ate nothing. She sat in her office, staring blankly at the neat rows of books on her wall, her body creeping with disquiet, her mind thick and murky, unable to find a glimmer of light. She was desperate to see him, could hardly wait for three o'clock, but at the same time dreading it, almost willing the second hand to stop ticking.

She could not delay the inevitable, and as she sensed the time approaching, her skin pricked with sickening excitement. At five to three, she made her way to the Ministry Interrogation Rooms, her feet reluctant in their progress, her legs unsteady.

The bespectacled witch outside the long corridor glanced up, her eyes sweeping dismissively over Hermione. "Room Six, Miss Granger. The Minister is waiting."

"Thank you."

Her heels clicked on the austere tiles, the sharp clamour reinforcing the inescapability of her duty. She opened the door slowly. Before her, behind a long empty desk, arms crossed, sat Shacklebolt, Bernard Underhill, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and Prudence Faircroft, International Magical Liaison Officer. Malfoy was not yet there. There was a seat on the end for her.

"Come in, Hermione. Sit down."

Nobody spoke at first, then Faircroft turned to her and gave a terse, brittle smile which faded as soon as it had appeared. "Congratulations, Miss Granger. Quite a coup - getting information which will bring Lucius Malfoy down at last."

Hermione focussed her eyes on her papers. The minutes ticked away. Three o'clock came and went. Hermione worked hard to keep her breathing inaudible. The atmosphere of the room pressed down on her, the bodies next to her sucking her independence away.

Shacklebolt sniffed. "Bloody man. If he doesn't show, he's in Azkaban tonight."

At eight minutes past three, the door opened suddenly and the woman from the corridor rushed in, her cheeks flushed. "Lucius Malfoy, Minister."

The proud figure of Malfoy swept in behind her, walking straight and tall into the room. He did not look at Hermione.

"Minister Shacklebolt. How delightful to see you again."

"You're late, Malfoy. You were summoned for three o'clock."

"I do apologise. I was with my tailor. He was struggling somewhat with my inside leg measurement."

Shacklebolt glared. Prudence Faircroft gave a strangulated dry cough.

"Kindly give your wand to Miss Granger."

Hermione darted her head up. Without a hint of recognition, but with a smooth grace which assailed her, Lucius took a step forward and offered the snake head of his cane. Her hand came up tentatively and grasped the silver, warm and smooth from his touch. She took his walking stick from him, swallowing hard, her belly flipping. She tucked it beside her, leaning it along her leg.

"Sit, Malfoy."

Malfoy drew his robes to the side elegantly and lowered himself onto the plain wooden chair opposite.

"You know Bernard Underhill, from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Prudence Faircroft, International Liaison, and Hermione Granger, also from Magical Law Enforcement."

Malfoy's eyes swept along the row of officials, barely looking at Hermione. She dropped her head.

"Ever been to Casterford, Mr Malfoy?" began Underhill.

"Yes."

"Nice place?"

"Pleasantly provincial."

"Do you know anyone there?" queried Faircroft.

"Not especially."

"Have you ever conducted business there?" interrupted Shacklebolt.

"I suggest you speak a little more plainly, Minister."

"You were seen in Casterford in discussion with Ivan Kresvidyev."

Malfoy barely hesitated before his voice came as smooth and calm as ever. "That is hardly surprising, as I have indeed been in Casterford in discussion with Ivan Kresvidyev."

There was a halting silence. Prudence Faircroft's fingers were working fast along a pencil in her clasp.

"Why don't you tell us your opinion of Kresvidyev, Mr Malfoy?" Underhill demanded.

"A clever man. A highly skilled wizard. He seems to be accruing power in Eastern Europe."

"And how does he know you?"

"He asked to meet me."

"You know his reputation?" asked Shacklebolt coldly.

Lucius simply cocked an eyebrow but did not speak.

"He is a defender of Pureblood values, just as you were. To the point of committing crimes to maintain those values. Not dissimilar to Lord Voldemort."

Malfoy laughed, a low dismissive chuckle through his nose. "From what I can tell it will take considerable time and effort for him to achieve anything approaching that! He has few connections, few supporters and virtually no funds."

"Perhaps with you behind him he will be able to develop."

"The days of my dalliance in the Dark Arts are long gone, Minister. I have no respect for the man. I spent a year in Azkaban; I have no desire to go back."

"So why were you talking to him?"

"Like I said, he asked to see me. I thought it prudent to humour him. One does not want to get on the wrong side of a man like that. I was curious, that is all."

"You know what they say about curiosity, Mr Malfoy."

Lucius mouth edged into the merest hint of a smile. "I am unfamiliar with Muggle proverbs."

Hermione could not stop a frisson of satisfaction run through her at his irony.

"Why didn't you tell us that you were in discussion with him?"

"I'm telling you now."

"He is acknowledged as a Dark wizard, Malfoy. Surely a man in your position would wish to disassociate himself from such people?"

"It would seem to be your prejudice rather than my guilt which has led to this little interrogation. I have nothing to hide. I am free to converse with whomsoever I wish."

"What did you promise him, Malfoy?"

"Promise? I didn't promise him anything. I provided him with nothing. We simply talked, mainly about the past; he was curious about my time under the Dark Lord. I have moved on, Minister. Surely the last decade of my life has convinced you of that. I have no time for petty little sorcerers dabbling in magic they do not understand."

Shacklebolt inhaled sharply, his eyes flaring. Malfoy's obstinacy was infuriating him.

"I can assure you, Mr Malfoy – you will be scrutinised. If we find anything irregular in your financial dealings, in who you communicate with from now on – you will be back in Azkaban before you can draw your next breath."

"Charming." Lucius' eyes lacked the poise of his voice. "You have not yet asked me what he told me."

Shacklebolt's nostrils flared. "And what did he tell you, Malfoy?"

"Names, plans ... he may not have much power at the moment, but you are right, he certainly wants it and has potential for it. He spoke freely to me, told me information quite openly: information which could be of use to you."

Shacklebolt squirmed. This was not going as he wanted.

"Why should I trust you, Malfoy?"

"Come, Minister. I have kept my nose clean for over ten years now. Why on earth would I jeopardise everything I have built up only to destroy it again over someone with no real prospect of any influence? Yes, I have consorted with a known Dark wizard. Throw me in prison for it, if you will. But I met with him at his instigation, provided him with no aid or assistance and have procured information from him which could prove very useful to you. Surely we can come to some arrangement?"

"I'm not bargaining with you, Malfoy."

"Bargaining? Oh, I wouldn't call it that, simply ... mutually beneficial discourse."

Hermione gripped the snake head until her knuckles blanched. He hadn't looked at her once.

Her fingers curled under the open jaw of the snake and she pricked one on a sharp fang. It drew blood. She didn't even notice.

Shacklebolt sighed. "I have no way of keeping you here, Malfoy, as much as it irks me to let you go. You will give a statement, detailing your conversation with Kresvidyev. And then, I suppose, you can go. But don't think you're off the hook on this one." His voice was low and dangerous. The tone unnerved Hermione as much as what he had said.

Just then the door opened after a quick knock and the brittle woman from the corridor entered. "Minister. May I remind you of your appointment with the Muggle Prime Minister at Downing Street?"

"Yes, I'm on my way, Cynthia. Bernard, you're joining me for that, aren't you?"

Underhill nodded and rose.

"I must go as well, Minister. There is an urgent missive from Washington to sort out," declared Faircroft, also standing.

"Hermione. I'm sorry, we will have to go. Can I ask you to take a statement from Malfoy? Hand it to my secretary when you've finished. It is simply a question of writing down what has been discussed today." Shacklebolt drew himself up and walked over to Lucius, who had also stood, nearly half a head taller than the Minister. "Don't think you're getting away with this, Malfoy. You will tell us everything. And we will be watching you, you mark my words. We will be watching your every move." He leaned in now, his words audible only to Lucius. "You won't be able to piss without us knowing."

"How reassuring to know the Ministry is safe in the hands of someone so refined and eloquent," Malfoy drawled, his mouth curled at the corners, but his eyes frozen as he fixed Shacklebolt with them.

The three people left, shutting the door behind them. Hermione sat, still clutching his cane. He glanced down at her.

"You had better take your statement then, Miss Granger."

Lucius lowered himself again into the seat and waited.

Resting his cane against the desk, she started to write. Formally, and properly, they completed the form. She questioned, he answered, as exact and precise as any interview should be. He did indeed give names and details of ideas Kresvidyev had supposedly come up with. Hermione did not ask if they were a fabrication or not.

After half an hour of solemn concentration, she pushed the parchment towards him and handed him the quill. "Sign here."

She watched as his hand danced over the bottom of the page: Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. A shiver of delicious heat ran over her skin.

She stood and picked up his cane, moving around the table before him. She held the long wooden stick out to him. "You are free to go."

Lucius looked at her, his eyes aglow, his lips turned up the merest amount. She was breathing so deeply it hurt, her insides coiled with such tense desire she could barely stand.

"Sit on the desk."

She could not at first move. He nudged his head to remind her of his words, shifting his eyes momentarily to the desk behind her.

Hermione swallowed sharply, but walked backwards to the desk and raised herself onto it.

He took a step in and took hold of his cane, but did not remove it from her grasp. "We cannot use magic on this room. You must be silent. Lie back."

She did so immediately, feeling the lust pooling along the inside of her thighs. Slowly, he pushed the cane up towards her mouth, moving it across her horizontally. "Hold it in both hands, one at either end ... open ... it will silence you."

He pushed down. The hard lacquered wood forced her mouth open and she gripped it in her teeth, her tongue tasting the smoothness of the shaft. Lucius let out the faintest sigh before slipping down her body, his hands tugging her skirt up in urgent fingers. He knelt between her legs and he took one, his tongue running along it momentarily before placing it on his shoulder. He did the same with the other.

Hermione bit hard onto the wood, her head turning with delirious anticipation. And there it was, her raison d'être: his tongue swept long and hard along her, from her perineum up to capture her clit. She stifled her cry upon the rigid shaft in her mouth.

Lucius fed deep from her. His nose nudged her clit while his tongue delved into her, swirling as far into her pussy as he could reach. And then fingers pushed into her arse, tight and exquisite. She thrashed her head, the cane tapping on the desk. He grunted with pleasure and pushed even harder into her, absorbing all he could. Hermione clamped her thighs against his head, wanting to capture him forever, wanting to absorb him into her, suck him fully into her being.

If it became uncomfortable for Lucius, he merely relished in it. At one point he had to push back for a throbbing gasp of breath. "If I could bottle you, woman, I would. I would bottle you and carry you with me forever. I would drink you into me instead of air." He was back into her, licking and laving, his teeth a sharp reminder of the dichotomy of his existence. She pressed into him, feeling those teeth nipping her clit, just enough to bring an exquisite pang. Hermione cried out onto his cane, her eyes tearing.

And then, fingers in her arse, thumb in her cunt and tongue sweeping her clit, Lucius brought her to the hardest come she could remember. Lying supine on the hard desk of Ministry Interrogation Room Number Six, Malfoy's cane clasped between her teeth, Hermione spasmed, her body shuddering uncontrollably. Lucius had to hold her down with one hand flung suddenly onto her thigh. Her groan was caught against the wood of his cane, her teeth digging sharp into it, marking it.

That would have been it. He was going to turn and leave. He felt the urgency to depart, knowing full well that anyone could enter the room at any point. His cock was burning, desperate, but he pulled up, withdrawing his cane from her grip and turning from her. But he could not get far. He heard a noise, a groan of loss, and turned to find Hermione dragging herself from the table, practically crawling across to him.

She got to him just before he could open the door and he found himself leaning back against it as she knelt, releasing his turgid cock immediately. Before he could fathom what was happening, she had him in her mouth as desperately as he had imbibed her moments before. Lucius was lost. His head fell back, his eyes closed and with a moan louder than he could control, he gave himself into her.

It did not take long. Hermione was on his cock as if possessed, taking it deep down into her throat, then releasing it up into her hungry mouth, slipping her tongue hard and firm over the head. Her hands held his balls tight, rubbing over the heavy sac.

He clasped his fingers painfully in her hair, causing her only to lavish him with more fervour. Lucius wanted to see, he wanted to see her take him. As he felt that unstoppable rise about to burst from him, he pulled her off roughly. "Open!"

Her mouth gaped, her tongue inviting him onto her. He came powerfully, shoots of thick white seed hitting her tongue, her cheeks, her lips, each spurt propelled out with grunting force.

Hermione slumped to the floor, her tongue instinctively capturing the cum around her mouth, but many streaks still stuck obstinately to her cheeks and chin. She stood with a sway, her skirt falling back down, and glanced up at him, her breathing heavy, her fingers gathering in the remains of his cum, sucking it off avidly. She panted out her words. "Promise me we'll never stop."

Lucius looked across at her, tucking himself away, adjusting his robes around him. He stood tall, his fingers about to grasp the door handle. "I pro ..."

His words were cut off. With one terse knock, the door swung open and the woman from the corridor stepped in forcefully. "Have you finished, Miss Granger? The room is required for another interview."

Hermione gasped in air as her connection with Lucius was lost.

Cynthia Thistlestone did not move, and held out her hand to Hermione. "Is that the statement? I'll take that. You may go now, Mr Malfoy. Miss Granger, the Minister has asked you to go over some documents with me before you leave. We'll do that now, shall we?"

Hermione turned her eyes to the witch at last. "If we must." Cynthia bristled under her glare.

As she pressured Hermione back towards the desk, Lucius slipped through the door and was gone.

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**And so it goes on.**

**You know I love your reviews, even if they're only to hurl abuse at me for not updating sooner ... LL x**


	19. Chapter 19

**Here we are - not quite such a long wait as last time either. (Not quite ...) I so value your continued support for this story. Thank you for all the reviews - they are SO appreciated and absorbed. I am sorry I cannot reply to them individually anymore; it is simply a matter of time, but if you PM me with a particular issue, I will get back to you.**

**I've posted a few other bits and bobs since the last chapter of this. Check out my profile to have a look.**

**I am still in love with this story, and in love with these two. We're getting towards the climax ... whatever that may be ...**

* * *

After Lucius' Ministry summons Hermione felt somehow she had been given a reprieve. It wasn't only he who had escaped retribution; she too felt released from moral obligation, from regret and doubt. Lucius was free, although the Ministry held him under constant scrutiny, and they continued their relationship with more need than ever.

It was almost that if no guilt could be ascribed to Lucius, then none could be pinned on her, either in her own mind or in the eyes of others. She continued lavishing love and attention on her family, continued as a good companion to her husband. Giving him sex was not something she relished, but once she had relented she would close her eyes, and with the image of Lucius firmly in her mind, got on with it.

It would now have been impossible for Hermione to drive to St James' Gardens; she knew Malfoy's house was under twenty-four hour surveillance. Lucius had managed to ward the inside to remain impervious to spying, magical or other means, and often gave the illusion he was not at home. But now she had to use floo, materializing straight into his home, and missed strolling up the broad white steps to be greeted at the door by the ever-impressive haughtiness of her lover.

But Wednesdays remained blissful, when they were held in their little bubble of delusion. Their physical need was ever more intense, and Hermione craved his body and cock like nothing before. She gave to him in ways that surprised even her, and after their comes, their bodies wet with pleasure, heavy and aching from hard lust, they would lie almost transfixed, incredulous at the sensations they continued to draw from each other.

He would often bind her now and take her body hard, never without approval, never without a plea from Hermione for more. There came times when she had to use magic or make-up to hide the signs of their violent passion, times when she was so sore from his possession of her body that she would resort to healing charms. But still she craved more. And Lucius felt glorious as never before.

Through his relentless pounding into this woman, his constant need to drink her down, he was assured and confident; he could do anything.

He and his wife existed separately for the most part. If Narcissa noticed a further distancing from her, she made no comment. On one occasion he had returned from London to find her hosting a party at the Manor. The conversation had dulled when he had entered the room, and his old acquaintances had greeted him mutely, making snide comments and remarks about his absence. There had been a young man there, unfamiliar to Lucius: louche, pretty, constantly hovering close to Narcissa. She had been taken with him, clearly. Lucius suspected they were lovers.

It angered him. Not because of his wife's infidelity; he was not one for hypocritical posturing, but because she had brought the boy into his house.

The boy had smirked at him before turning in full view and whispering to his wife, ending in a chuckle which he bestowed directly against her ear. Narcissa had responded by throwing her head back and cackling, her arm, wine glass held erratically in the hand, thrown over his shoulder. She had not even looked at her husband.

Lucius felt anger surging rapidly, heated and focused. He had gripped his wand tight, ready to curse the lot of them and eradicate all evidence of their vapid arrogance from his house. But as he inhaled sharply in preparation to spit out the spell, he tasted her again, tasted his Hermione, remembered her coming on his tongue until her clit was so swollen from his devouring sucks the distinction between pleasure and pain became too confused even for her and they had had to stop.

It stopped him. He retreated, barely noticed by the people in the room. Hermione was not here; she did not belong here; what did it matter what went on in a place she did not exist.

-oOXOo-

The next day was Wednesday.

Lucius was waiting at the fireplace and as soon as she landed in it, he grabbed her. He noticed the look of shock in her eyes at his forcefulness. After his initial searing glance into her eyes, seeking the affirmation he immediately found, he barely looked at her. Her clothes were ripped off in his hands, falling from her, and she raised her hands high above her, inviting his constraint. Summoning lengths, not of rope, but the smoothest black silks, he bound her wrists then pulled them high, binding her suddenly to a hook which appeared in the ceiling above her.

And then he simply felt her, stretched out before him, running his hands over her body, skimming down over those bound arms, running over the pale dip of her collarbone, cupping her breasts, grazing hot fingertips over nipples, then down over her legs, kissing now, soft worshipping kisses which held every point he touched with a sudden burn. Hermione was moaning, a deep rasping need rising from her. A few seconds before she had been walking through the Ministry atrium, bestowing benevolent smiles on her colleagues, sweet in her trickery, deceptively casual in her determination, marching unstoppably towards the man she should be scrutinising, the man on whom she had just had orders to pour suspicion.

But now the scrutiny was all his. Suspicion could not be contemplated under the relentless devotion he lavished on her flesh: never had there been such surety, such certain and open adoration.

He was standing alongside her now, her hair held with conviction in his hands, guiding her head, not just for him but her, leading her eyes into his. His face had a regal solemnity, a noble determination. And then his hand reached between her legs and the solemn visage crumbled for a moment as he found the soak of her lust, that hot, wet sweetness which issued out so willingly for him. He could not stop his fingers, two, then three, seeking up into her, as deep as he could get, ingraining the feel of her on him. With reluctance he extracted them before his middle finger worked its way into her arse, suddenly, with a sharpness which caused her eyes to widen and her breath to catch. But as she squirmed onto it in her bonds, he worked it harder inside her, pushing his forefinger in to join it, corkscrewing them both in to the third knuckle, delighting in the little gasp of pained joy which fell onto him, her eyes glazing with sudden surprise.

He managed somehow to slip his other two fingers back into her soaking cunt while his thumb worked hard over her clit. It would not take long. He continued to grip her hair hard. She was immobile, entirely given over to him.

"Come, come, come ..." He would whisper it often, needing to see and feel her release as much as she did, knowing that it was the only clear truth in this otherwise fetid world.

And so, with a futile buck against the bonds, her arms straining uselessly, her face creased. She stared at him and her expression slid suddenly into one which seemed to be crumpling disappointment – furrowed brows, narrowed eyes, mouth twisted in what could have been remorse. But he knew her. It was not an expression of dismay, but a throwing off of all conformity, of all pretence; she was coming so hard her mouth had to open to release the wail which was contained within her ecstatic body. He stared as her lips opened and she screamed, not a shrill scream of exaggerated climax, but a rasping certain cry. He felt her on his fingers, her body melting on him, only on him.

And almost before she had settled, he had released himself fast, lifted her legs on either side of his hips, and plunged into her. She was still suspended by the arms, and with a silent charm he adjusted the height slightly. He had to hold her fast to keep her still, but he fitted so beautifully in this position that he moved for some time in silence, feeling her perfection.

"Lucius, Lucius, my love, my love, hard, hard, please ..."

She did not need to plead; he would fuck her exactly as she wanted, exactly as he knew her body needed. He moved fast and deep now, holding her legs up around his waist, stroking along her with brutal precision. His own pleasure was taking a swift hold, and as much as he would delay anything for her, he feared this time he could not. Inevitability crashed down upon him and her pleas became his.

"Hermione, please, please hurry, hurry, come for me, Hermione, come for me, come to me ..."

And there, tied in his bindings, held in his hands, and impaled on his cock, she had never read such innocent and desperate need in his face.

It was then that she knew. He didn't need to say it; it was written with blinding clarity on him.

She came on him, her body spasming around the stiff length buried within it. This time her pleasure was heard only with the lowest moan; it was Lucius now who cried out, so loud and long it made her eyes flare in wonder. He held her with such force as his seed erupted into her that she felt his fingers bruising, scratching.

It was only when he released her at last that Hermione realised her upper body was completely numb. He soothed feeling back into her with kisses and sighs until she fell asleep on his bed, entangled in his limbs.

-oOXOo-

They never discussed Kresvidyev. Hermione knew Lucius was still meeting with him. He would occasionally arrive breathlessly late, a glow of exhilaration on his cheekbones, and at those times he would take her harder than ever, and she would take him.

But no details were ever exchanged; if they weren't then she would have nothing to take back to Shacklebolt, and her conscience, such as it was now, would not be troubled. As they fucked, she noticed his muscles ever more pronounced, his arms honed and tight, his abdomen rippled. His body had always been admirable, but recently she could not deny the additional tightening and swelling. She suspected she knew why; training for a Dark wizard demanded physical rigor, but she simply reveled in the body upon and within her.

Preparations for the Quidditch World Cup were well underway. Lucius had clearly been relieved of his role as cultural consultant, and the focus instead was now on security only.

Briefings were held daily, and Hermione was always present. In the run-up to the event she found herself more able than ever to disassociate the two parts of her life from each other. While listening to the current list of suspicious wizards, a list Lucius always topped, she found herself most often thinking, for instance, of the last time he had taken her against the wall, her breasts pressed hard against it, his fingers deep in her arse while his cock drove into her pussy. And then her mind would switch to checking off the ingredients for that evening's meal. Guilt no longer played a part in her mindset, neither did anxiety. She had him; life was full.

"We do not believe Kresvidyev has been over to the UK anymore since meeting with Malfoy. That's encouraging. And anyone on the suspect list has had any transfers to overseas accounts frozen. Gringotts has proved very helpful in this. Nothing gets past the goblins, I'll grant them that." Shacklebolt had an air of confidence about him.

"Does that include Malfoy's accounts?" queried Bernard Underhill.

"Of course."

"Was there any evidence he had been giving money to Kresvidyev before?"

"Nothing we can pin on him, unfortunately, but large amounts of money had been withdrawn and placed in foreign accounts for several months. The accounts were clean and seemed to belong to family members of the Malfoys now living abroad, but we still have our doubts. All Malfoy's owls have recently been intercepted; none of the messages has contained anything remotely of interest. He's either being overly cautious or he's ..."

"Innocent?" Hermione asked, a hopeful rise in her voice.

"... cleverer than we thought." The Minister smiled patronizingly. "Lucius Malfoy will never be innocent, Hermione."

She lowered her head, more angry than embarrassed. Sensibly, she and Lucius had stopped sending owls as soon as he had been called in by the Minister. They had managed to communicate recently, in the few times they had needed to do so between meetings, by Muggle mail.

A day after sending Lucius a letter about their meeting later that week, she was in her office when Kingsley's secretary tapped urgently on her door.

"You have a meeting with the Minister in half an hour, Miss Granger. Lucius Malfoy has been called in again; they think they may have something on him."

Her mouth had turned to sandpaper immediately. Again, she made her way with heavy steps to the Interrogation Room. This time Lucius was already there. As before, he did not glance once at her as she sat down opposite him.

Shacklebolt sat for a time in silence, simply staring at Lucius with a faint smile. Then he glanced down at something he was holding in his hand and spoke:

_"__The minutes, the hours are dragging. I know what you crave, as I crave it too. My reliance on you astounds and refreshes me, brings me feelings of power never before imagined. With you I know I can be everything I should, achieve heights of magnificence, only through you. You have restored me. Two days more and then it can be again. Every time I feel greater, every time I am reborn. Without you I would be nothing. I cannot come until later in the day this week. I am sorry. Wait for me. I will be there." _

The dryness of Hermione's throat rasped through to her heart.

Shacklebolt tossed a piece of Muggle letter paper on the table. Hermione had recognised it immediately, as soon as he had spoken the first sentence; it was the letter she had sent Lucius the day before.

"'_My reliance on you astounds and refreshes me, brings me feelings of power never before imagined ...'_ Commanding words, Lucius, aren't they?"

He did not respond.

Hermione stared hard at the table, unblinking, her mind desperately circling through the implications but unable to sort them clearly. She never signed her name or even her initials at the end of her letters, never even put a kiss. And she wrote in a deliberately naive hand, subduing her usual fluid script. There had never seemed a need; her sentiments and her body were enough. That at least was something.

"No signature, Lucius, and the handwriting has clearly been disguised. How convenient for you. We have traced the postmark. It comes from central London.'

Hermione had posted it while on a shopping trip to Regent Street.

"Well?"

"This is a private matter. I have no need to discuss it with you."

Shacklebolt stood, his hand slamming hard on the table. Hermione had never seen him like it, rage oozing from every pore. He shouted violently, "Yes, you bloody well will, you arrogant bastard! I have every right to see whatever I wish. If I want to see your grandmother's fucking Christmas cards I will!"

Lucius stared steadily at him, his calm demeanor merely exaggerating Shacklebolt's unrestrained outburst.

"This was sent to me by an acquaintance."

"Is that acquaintance Ivan Kresvidyev?"

Lucius chuckled low under his breath. "Is that what your amazing powers of deduction have concluded? My, my, the Ministry really has sunk to new depths of incompetence."

"The evidence speaks for itself, Malfoy. It sounds to me as if he is commending you for your support and arranging another time to meet. You have clearly helped him greatly, and he you – _more magnificent together!_ Well, I hope you enjoyed your chummy heights of invincibility while they lasted, Malfoy, because you're about to come crashing back down to a cell in Azkaban."

"That is obviously not a letter from Kresvidyev, you fool. Why would he write in such intimate terms? Do you have no understanding of the human condition?"

Shacklebolt bristled and Hermione thought for a moment he would explode again, but then he leaned in as he sensed a diminishing in Malfoy's resolve. This time his voice came with determined menace.

"So – _who_ – is it from, Malfoy? If I don't have a name, you will never see the light of day again."

Malfoy held his stare coldly, his nostrils flaring, his chest rising rapidly. Hermione could tell he was struggling to rein himself in, but his next statement ripped her own breath from her.

"Isn't it obvious? It is from a lover."

The shock of his easy disclosure caused physical pain to grab her.

"A lover?" Shacklebolt's face blanched; he could not hide his disappointment at the obviousness of the revelation.

"Yes. And, as you can imagine, it is not something I wish to discuss any further."

"Why is there no name at the bottom? No expression of love?"

"She doesn't need to include that. Her words are enough."

"She?"

"Of course, she."

"I don't know, Malfoy. You are, as they say, very pretty."

Lucius stood at last, his body hard and tense, his eyes wide with hatred, magic rippling through him.

"Sit down, both of you." It was Hermione who spoke; she couldn't stand it. "This is achieving nothing."

Lucius and Shacklebolt turned to look at her, almost surprised there were others in the room. She dared to look directly into her lover's eyes. Immediately he slackened, immediately the burn of fury diminished. He inhaled and lowered himself into his seat again.

"I want her name," continued Shacklebolt.

"No."

"You will give me her name, Malfoy."

"No. It is me who is under suspicion, albeit ludicrously. You will leave her out of this."

"You know full well what powers I have if you don't answer my questions, Malfoy. Do I know her?"

Lucius' jaw muscle worked fast. He was going to have to give him something.

"The wizarding world is small, Shacklebolt; everyone knows everyone else."

"So she is a witch?"

He simply glared.

"Does your wife know?"

Lucius tutted. "This has nothing to do with my alleged involvement, or lack of it, with Ivan Kresvidyev. If you have nothing more than this to go on, I believe I should be free to go. I will not answer any more of your intrusive questions any longer."

"I will have to speak to your wife then."

"Do so if you must! She knows I have a lover. She has one too. It is an arrangement which suits us both."

"I'll find out who this is, Malfoy. Who knows, this mysterious lover of yours might be helping Kresvidyev too."

Again, Malfoy flared. Before anything could be done to stop him, he had stood and leaned hard over the table, fixing Shacklebolt with a stare which froze blood, his long forefinger jabbing through the air.

"If you make one move to find her, if you investigate her or question her or touch her, I will not be responsible for what happens next and Merlin alone help me if I rot in Azkaban forever more. If you make any move to find her, your life will not be worth living - _Minister_." He sneered the last word with such sibilant menace that Shacklebolt visibly shrank back. Hermione had never seen Lucius so terrifyingly magnificent. All for her.

But it did not take long for Shacklebolt to rise to Lucius' wrath. He pushed his chair back so that it fell with a crash to the floor and strode out to stand before his adversary.

"Don't you fucking threaten me, Malfoy. I could have you in prison for that alone." Then his face curled up; Hermione suddenly disliked him so intensely she felt sick. He stepped up to Malfoy and peered at him. "Well well, I think we've found a weak spot. If this woman, this mysterious _grande amour_ of yours really does exist, she's clearly got under your skin. Still, she can't be worth much if she's wasting her time sucking your cock ... stupid little whore."

Lucius' fist landed hard across his cheek and nose before anyone could process what was happening.

Hermione at first could do nothing. Immediately, Bernard Underhill withdrew his wand and put Lucius in a binding curse. He could not move, his hands locked tight behind him.

After a panicked glance at Lucius, who seemed oddly unperturbed by his actions, Hermione came to her senses and bent to Shacklebolt, querying if he was alright. She knew she had to appear to be concerned but could barely bring herself to touch him. Blood was issuing from his nose and he was wincing in agony; it pleased her.

"It's ... it's alright ... just give me a moment. I probably had that coming – fucking bastard makes me see red. Can you ... give me a hand?"

She yanked him to his feet over-forcefully, digging her fingers into his arms.

"What should we do with ... Mr Malfoy?" she queried.

"He can have a night in the Ministry cells to calm down, but no more for now. And, Hermione ... let's keep this as quiet as possible, shall we? What I said ... probably best that it doesn't go any further. Can you take Malfoy to the cell?

She nodded. Shacklebolt left with the others, a handkerchief pressed to his face. A guard remained behind.

"Mr Malfoy – follow me."

Silently, Hermione led him to the depths of the Ministry where her footsteps echoed with a brittle staccato off the hard, obsidian walls of the building, no longer absorbed by the sea of bodies in the corridors above.

A man sat before the entrance to the cells. He looked up, bored disinterest etched into his features, a result of having to sit with no human contact most days. But when he saw the two people before him, his eyes brightened and he raised himself tall, his thick moustache bristling under his broad nose.

"Miss Granger. Not often we see you down here."

"No. The Minister requires a cell for this man."

The guard could not help a small satisfied smile creeping cheaply over his mouth as he turned his eyes on Lucius. "Name?" He knew exactly who he was but wanted to reinforce the shame of the moment.

"Lucius Malfoy." Hermione spoke abruptly, glaring at the guard.

"Reason for ... incarceration?" He sneered gleefully.

"Actual Bodily Harm." She spoke as dispassionately as possible, although it gave her a jolt of excitement to think of how Lucius had reacted to Shacklebolt's insult.

The guard's eyebrows rose in delighted curiosity. "Really?" He turned his attention to scribble the details down on a form in front of him. "_Lucius Malfoy_ ... _Actual Bodily Harm_ ... how the mighty are fallen."

"Your opinion was not requested, Mr ... Snipplethorne." Hermione leaned in to read the name on his badge. "It is not your job to pass judgment on your prisoners. Mr Malfoy is to stay here only one night and there were mitigating circumstances to his actions. I shall be speaking to your superior about your attitude."

Snipplethorne's face dropped. "I need Mr Malfoy's signature."

Lucius wasted no time in leaning forward and providing it with arrogant fluidity. The guard crossed his arms and tutted. "Right ... I need all personal possessions."

Hermione watched as Lucius' elegant hands extracted from his pockets his large wallet, a gold fob watch, a fountain pen and a half-empty packet of pear drops. She smiled.

"Wand?" queried Snipplethorne dully.

"Mr Malfoy's wand was removed from him in the Interrogation Room; I have it safe."

The guard eyed her coldly before shifting his stare to Lucius. "I'll have to frisk you."

Lucius' eyes rolled but he let the man grapple over his body with bored tolerance.

"Hmph. That'll do. This way. Thank you, Miss Granger."

"I am to ensure I see Mr Malfoy to the cell."

"That isn't usual practice."

"It is today," she declared.

They reached the cell, a small, windowless room made from the same black tiles omnipresent in the building. A single light-bulb hung from the ceiling. There was a narrow bed and a toilet but nothing else.

"Thank you, Mr Snipplethorne. There are things I have to discuss with Mr Malfoy. I shall be out momentarily. Good bye." She shut the door in his face, enclosing her and Lucius in the room.

She turned to him and sagged. "Bloody hell."

"It's only one night. As you well know, I've had worse. Shacklebolt deserved it – I don't regret it for an instant."

"I hate leaving you here."

He chuckled. "It really doesn't bother me. Don't let it trouble you."

"It'll be in the Prophet."

"No, it won't. If it is, then the reasons surrounding it will be investigated and that bastard will not want that getting out. What worries me more is that they'll get to you."

"I don't see how they can. We've been very careful."

He stepped into her. "I couldn't stand it if you were hurt. If they came after you and ..."

"Shhh." She looked up at him; his face was creased with genuine concern. He looked younger than she was used to; she caught a glimpse of the little boy in him. Raising herself up, she curled her arms around his neck and brought his head down to hers. His arms slipped around her waist and they kissed, softly and tenderly, time slipping away around them. It was all they needed at that moment and it would have been foolish to try anything more.

When they finally pulled back she smiled against his lips. "I didn't know you liked pear drops."

He smirked. "I don't eat them very much anymore ... but ... they remind me of you."

She couldn't help another kiss, more passionate this time, before moving to his ear. "I don't want to leave you ... I don't want to leave you here."

"We weren't going to see each other until tomorrow. This has been a bonus."

She giggled, burying her head in his chest. "That's one way of putting it." Hermione sighed. "I'd better go. That bloody guard will be wondering what's going on. Will you be alright?"

He raised a cynical eyebrow to her.

"Sorry. Bye then."

"Bye," he teased.

Hermione stepped back, hesitating.

"Go on," he insisted. "Come to me on Wednesday. Use floo. They can't detect you."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm bloody sure! Now go."

She kissed him once again, long and hard, then pulled away, turned and shut the door behind her, not looking back. She held herself tall, walking out determinedly past the guard.

"Thank you, Snipplethorne. Remember not to allow personal prejudice to influence your work in future."

Her work for the day had come to an end. With a cheery smile and casual conversation to her friends and colleagues in the atrium she made her way out into the Muggle city. It was only when she was safely away from the Ministry, hidden among the tourists and Londoners on the Embankment that Hermione stopped, her whole body drooping as she allowed a sob to well up and break out, tears rolling down her cheeks.

* * *

**It's not really getting easier, is it?**

**Hope you enjoyed this - lots going on. Let me know what you thought. LL xxx**


	20. Chapter 20

**Yes. It's here. And it's a long one. And it's a ... very laurielove one. Gird thy loins and thy souls. **

**Right. Don't worry - I've stopped the pretentious twaddle now. After reading this chapter, you'll realise why I've gone a bit squiffy.**

**THANK YOU for your patience and support for this story. I know it means a lot to many of you. It is in a position now where I can move it towards the conclusion. **

**For those who don't know, I've written lots of one-shots recently, mainly ... up against a wall. If you go to my profile you'll see what I mean.**

**Anyway ... The Sense of Taste ... onwards ...**

**NB *EDIT* - Since posting this yesterday I have edited this slightly (with regard to the terms Lucius was using to address Hermione and to the ending of the sex scenes). I value opinion and you were right. I hope and feel this is better.  
**

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Hermione did not sleep the night Lucius was locked in the Ministry cell. Ron's snoring had prompted her to move with exhausted indignation to the spare room.

At midday she took the floo, with her own secret stealth, to St James' Gardens and arrived in the dining room. The house was silent. Fear gripped her. A night in the cells was just that – a night. He should have been released by now. Her heart throbbed relentlessly and audibly through her body as she hesitantly opened the door to the rest of the house. Still she heard nothing.

Her resentment of Shacklebolt was overriding all other emotion. In her mind she was drafting her resignation letter, standing tall as she declared before her boss that she was Lucius Malfoy's lover and that Shacklebolt in comparison was a mere flea on his shoe, imagining herself before the Wizengamot testifying against her boss and detailing the corrupt and prejudiced nature of his allegations against a reformed and philanthropic man. She trod heavily along the corridor. The clock in the hall struck noon but still no other sound reached her ears. Her eyes were hot with threatening tears, her jaw muscles tense with despair. She reached to the wall for support.

"Ah. Here at last. I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever arrive."

She spun around. Lucius was standing just behind her, his face set with the same casual and confident haughtiness she had first seen all those years ago in Flourish and Blotts.

This time she raised her fist and thumped him hard on the chest. "You bastard! I didn't think you were here. It was like a bloody morgue."

He simply smirked.

"You did it on purpose."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're a sadistic bastard who gets a kick out of tormenting people."

He frowned. "We could have a long debate on that, but for now ... Hullo." Lucius purred the last word down to her and leaned in for the most delicious kiss.

"How was your night?" she asked.

"Perfectly fine. The Ministry bunks are far more comfortable than those of Azkaban. I slept remarkably well."

Hermione humphed. "Oh, great. Well, I'm glad one of us did. I was worried sick."

"Your concern is touching," he smirked.

She frowned again. She was not in the mood for his sardonic self-importance. "Oh stop it; you're being a prat. Did they let you out with no fuss?"

"Of course. They wish the incident to be forgotten as much as I. Now, come along. I missed you. I spent most of that interview yesterday trying to keep my groin under control."

Hermione laughed aloud. "You barely looked at me throughout the whole thing."

"Precisely. How else do you think I was able not to take you over the desk in full view of everyone present?"

"It wasn't lust driving you at the end."

"True. My emotions had shifted due to the lunacy of the Minister for Manic."

She laughed again. Lucius was by now reaching for her clothes and unbuttoning her shirt. She stepped away. "You know ... I quite fancy a cup of tea."

"What?"

"You can't just expect me to turn up and spread my legs for you immediately every single time, Lucius."

"Why ever not?"

She rolled her eyes. "You know, you really can be an insufferably arrogant cock."

"Hmm ... I can provide more if you wish, especially of the last word."

Hermione shook her head with a wry smile. "How can you be so relaxed after what happened yesterday?"

Lucius' face suddenly lost its dance, his tone now directly earnest. "Because you're here."

Hermione looked at him; his eyes had reverted to their deep grey integrity. She began to move into him again but it was he this time who leaned back.

"Earl Grey?" he grinned.

Instead of the unstoppable desire which could so easily have overtaken them both, Hermione instead planted a soft kiss on his closed mouth. He took her hand and led her through to the kitchen.

They did manage to sit for at least fifteen minutes before finally giving into the inevitable and losing themselves in each other's bodies again.

As they lay afterwards, Hermione released a long sigh as encroaching tension wound its way into her mind again.

"Quidditch World Cup next week."

Lucius gave no response.

"I can't stand the sport, you know. I mean, it was different at school because of all the euphoria surrounding the House matches and the fact that Ron and Harry were so heavily involved. But now, probably because of those very reasons, certainly because Ron is so dominated by it, I hate the mere mention of it. I think he's going to every single event, opening ceremony, all the bloody matches. He's got VIP tickets."

Hermione let out a deep sigh, not so much with regret as with pity at her husband's blinkered vision. Lucius had fallen suddenly quiet.

"And wives are expected to show their faces at these things. I'm supposed to be at the Opening Ceremony."

"What?"

"I'll be at the Opening Ceremony."

"You just said you hated it." There was a tense edge to his voice.

"Yes, but some things you just have to do."

"But ... I've been to dozens of these things. The novelty wears off after the first. I really wouldn't trouble yourself with it."

"Come on, Lucius. The opening ceremony can be OK. I don't really mind. And, you know, it's to our advantage that I go. I need to show everyone I'm still happily married."

"Hermione." He'd sat up, his whole body suddenly rigid. "I have heard it's very badly organised this year. It will be a shambles. You're far better off staying at home."

"What the hell's the matter with you? I can go if I want. I thought I'd take the children. It's a real spectacle."

"No. You can't." The force of his declaration stirred in her a rising panic.

"What? What is it?"

"I ... Don't go. Don't take your children. It isn't the sort of thing children are suited to. They'll hate it and it will unnerve them. Stay at home with them."

"Lucius! This is ridiculous. I can bloody well go if I want to. What's got into you?"

Throwing back the covers, he rose from the bed swiftly, his hands running through his hair. Realisation, sickening and inescapable, was creeping through her with malicious haste. Her mouth ran dry and her heart beat so loudly within her she thought it would burst from her ribcage. "Lucius ..."

He looked back at her, his eyes wide, the panic she felt reflected in his. "Don't go."

"There's something ... you've ... something's going to happen ..."

Lucius simply stood, agonised and rigid before her. He did not deny her words. Hermione's face grew wet and she curled her arms around her, rocking herself on the bed. "Please ... please ... don't ... don't ..."

He didn't reply, his breath coming fast, his own eyes damp.

She rocked steadily, back and forth, sobbing softly as if to try to hide her despair from him. "What have you done? What have you done?"

"It isn't me. It's him. I have made no decisions. But I have knowledge of his intentions."

"Have you financed these ... intentions? Have you helped him plan?"

"I don't ...! I can't ..." He was stammering, almost unable to express himself. "More ... logistical suggestion, I suppose! And he uses the money without telling me exactly how."

"Blood money, Lucius."

"Stop it!"

"Your money financing the murder of hundreds of innocent people."

"No! Not like that ... not like before. He intends only to disrupt, as I understand it ... but ... there may be some loss of life. At times it is unavoidable."

His attempt to diminish the magnitude of what he was abetting sickened her. "You say that with some ease, but then ... _'some loss of life'_ ... that's something you're familiar with, isn't it?"

"Don't."

She stood up and moved to him. They were both still naked but it was not noticed.

"After all this, Lucius ... after all we've been through ... you're just the same ... exactly the same. You haven't changed one bit, have you?" She stared into his eyes hard, her words forced out with as much strength as she could muster. "You appal and repulse me."

He closed his eyes against her words. They stood, naked in his room, tense and fraught, their bodies so close but never as distanced as at that moment.

"Do you understand nothing?" he said, almost too soft for her to hear, his eyes still closed.

"Clearly not," she stated. "But I see exactly what I need to see."

"I have told you before. It's you. It's all you ... you have thrown me into turmoil. I can't live in this world. I cannot live in a world with you, yet I can't live in a world without you. I don't even know what this world is anymore."

"So you wish to destroy it."

Bringing up his fist so that she swayed back, he brandished it before her, his face ferocious. "I wish to take hold of it and shake it, shake it until it works for me, until I can make sense of it, feel it as I felt it before, dislodge the stagnant state I find myself in ... that you are caught in too. I want to shake us out of this frozen sludge and live again. Live with you, feel with you, everything, _everything."_

Her eyes burned and her blood careened chaotically through her body. "And you will do that by killing those dear to me?"

He turned away again. "Don't let your children go."

"But Ron? You'd see him dead?"

"Don't make me answer that." His clinical coldness turned her stomach.

"What do you want from me?" she sobbed.

"All of you. You are my blood. You are my air, my life force. I resent you for it, sometimes I loathe you for it, but I will not give you up. I cannot."

Hermione stood, still a mere foot from him, shaking her head in furious disappointment, as much with herself as him. "I am an utter fool. A blind, senseless fool. I have let you carry on. I have ignored you. I knew what you were doing. I knew you were training with him, I knew you were aiding him, and ... it made me want you even more. But this, Lucius, now it's come to this ... idiot that I am. I can't. I can't stand by anymore. I won't. I shall go and I shall tell the Minister to cancel the World Cup. And I shall tell him that you are to be detained and questioned, interrogated until they get information from you. And you will not come near me or my family again."

She turned quickly and grabbed for her clothes, throwing them on haphazardly, keeping her head down.

"Such an immaculate liar."

Hermione turned back, her eyes bright with passionate indignation. Lucius stood tall, the grey of his shining fiercely.

"I am not lying. That is precisely what I shall do."

"Not the last part. You said I will not come near you again. On that, you are lying. You know you cannot live without me."

She wanted to prove him wrong, she wanted to turn and march away, march out of his house in full view of the Ministry spies, confessing all to them, gaining their confidentiality with regard to her husband in exchange for the delivery of proof against Malfoy. She walked up to him, determined it would be the last time, and hit him hard around the face again, just as she had done the first time she had come to give herself to him.

He gripped her wrist instantly, twisting it painfully and not allowing it out of his grasp. He leaned in, malevolent and heated, his breath coming hot and fast on her face, still sweet, still intoxicating.

"I told you never to strike me again." She had never heard his voice so coldly determined.

She reached up with her other hand and, clenching it into a fist, hurled it down onto his chest, then again, and again. Then she uncurled it and slapped it onto him, catching him with her nails, and when she saw the scratch it had made she set about scraping her nails over his flesh violently, digging them in hard so that angry red lines appeared. He let her for a minute, delighting in the sweet agony of each rasping mark. But his temper could not be controlled and he held her other wrist now, pulling it away from his skin.

"You beautiful, terrible creature. You mark me only to ensure I stay yours. I am yours. You know it. And you are mine."

Hermione started to struggle, wailing, kicking at him, trying to wrestle her arms out of his hold so much her skin became red and hot with pain. He pushed her back, not towards the door, not out of his life, but back towards his bed, still damp and hot from their prior joining.

"No, no, no, you won't, no more, Lucius, no more."

He pushed harder now, his strength overwhelming her. Still she flailed, her hair as wild as her eyes, wrestling against him but only succeeding in exhausting herself and ridding herself of the clothes she had managed to loosely put on before. They reached the bed and she fell back upon it as his inevitable weight loomed over her. His heated words dropped onto her. "Tell me what you are feeling now."

"Anger and hatred, Lucius. At last I see you for what you are. At last I've come to my senses." Her eyes shone with rage and her words were forced out so that her spittle spattered his face.

"No ... You have always seen me for what I am. You are lying beneath me on my bed and you tell me you've come to your senses only now. You came to your senses the first time I spoke to you in the moonlight all those months ago and that is why you will open to me again and pull me into you. You know you need all I am as much as I need all you are."

She twisted her head away from him, closing her eyes in despair. "No. _No._ I hate you. I've always hated you. I'll always hate you."

"Open for me," he spoke almost softly.

"Never again, Lucius. Get off me, you bastard. Get off me you deceitful, traitorous, murdering bastard."

But as she spoke her legs were parting; she knew it. And his fingers were stroking up her thighs to ease them apart more for him and she let him. And then she was arching off the bed for him, drawing him closer. Her mind was screaming at her, but her body and soul were opening for him as they would always do.

He had no desire or need to use force. She opened her legs, her body beckoned him in, and holding his cock, he gently guided it into her. A small sigh escaped her as he eased up fully, feeling her walls slipping past him as they always did until he was buried in her to the hilt. With a sigh of his own he rested his weight fully on her and buried his head in her neck, inhaling all she was.

"Say it again," he murmured against her skin.

"I hate you," she repeated but bucked against him, hurling a shot of pleasure through them both. Lucius groaned and pushed ever deeper into her. She brought her hands around his back and clasped him to her. "I hate you." The words left her as she clenched her body so hard and beautifully around his cocooned cock he stifled a sob into her neck.

He moved more powerfully now, not brutally, but sweet and fast, stroking along her with the perfect accuracy only he could. Lucius pulled up a little and took hold of her leg just under the knee, pulling it up and out so that he could angle himself all the better for her. She clenched on him as he touched her so sweetly a ripple of electricity ran through her. And then that same hand moved to her clit and rubbed along just above their join. Hermione gasped as pleasure almost took hold but managed to hold it back, not wanting to end what was happening. She locked her eyes into his and her words came with the rhythm of their movement together. "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I love you. I love you. Love you forever. Love you forever."

And then she came, softly at first and privately, but he knew. And when her pleasure rose to such a climax it could no longer be contained, and her mouth gaped and her eyes widened and he could feel her gripping his cock like a vise, he told her, not because he had decided to, but because it needed to come out and it did.

"And I love you."

Hermione took the words as the last of her orgasm washed through her and carried them into her soul.

Lucius stopped for a while, simply looking down at her. Inclining her head up off the pillow, she reached up and kissed him, a kiss so giving and healing, and he whispered against her lips again, "I will love you until the day I die."

Hermione reached up to hold his head and spoke. "Come for me, my darling. Come inside me, Lucius."

He began to move again, stronger than before, not looking away from her eyes, and it took only a few strokes for him to come so strongly his knuckles turned white as they gripped the sheets and the tendons in his neck strained as if they would snap.

Once again he sank onto her, resting the full weight of his body on her, knowing how much she wanted it. Hermione stroked his back slowly, tenderly, in stark contrast to the venomous brutality she had struck him with earlier.

"I cannot stop Kresvidyev."

"Cannot or will not?"

"Both."

"I will tell Shacklebolt of the plot to target the World Cup."

"I know."

"But I won't mention you to him. I will simply say I have intelligence, but that I have received threats against my family so I will not divulge details."

"Why not mention me?"

"I am too selfish, of course. I want you."

"You could visit me in Azkaban. The cells are tightly sealed. No sound even escapes – you could scream your ecstasy as loudly as you wish and nobody would hear."

"You make it sound almost attractive." She almost laughed. "Even if Shacklebolt doesn't have your name, he may come down even harder on you. He may put you under house arrest, stop your floo, take away your apparating licence. If you break it he will put you in Azkaban immediately."

"What will be will be. As long as you come to me."

She curled her limbs around him and held him so tightly it must have hurt.

"Would you really let innocent men and women die?"

"As I said, sometimes it is unavoidable. I have done so before. You know that. I am the same person, Hermione. I cannot change that. I will not. But I will have you and I will love you always, know that."

And she did not question him anymore. Her conscience, when faced with the option of never having him again, buried itself into the distant obscurity darkened further by the contrast of the bright blaze of her desire and love.

He rolled off her at last and they lay together in bed. They still had much of the afternoon left, and Hermione allowed herself a little exhausted sleep, her mind too full of all that had been done and said to allow for any more thought.

When she woke up her head was resting on his chest. Lucius' eyes were open, staring up to the ceiling. Hermione saw the angry red marks she had made on his chest, scratched lines of scarlet, drawing blood to the surface. Slowly and tenderly, she traced over them. "I hurt you. I don't know how you abide it."

He turned to her and reached in to kiss her before pulling back and staring so intensely into her she almost had to look away. But she could feel him rising beneath her and took his cock firmly, running her hand up and down it. He guided her up. "Sit on me, put me inside you. Whatever you do, don't stop moving, don't stop fucking me, do you understand?"

Hermione was confused by him manner but manoeuvred herself into position. He reached over and took his wand from the bedside table. Hermione sank herself down onto him._ Fuck, she loved the way he rode so high up into her when she straddled him. _Her head fell back and she sighed with that familiar bliss as his cock once again filled the emptiness inside.

"Look at me."

She turned her head down. His eyes were ablaze. He was holding his wand in his hand and incanted the words, _"Transire mihi dulce dolor."_ The wand began to fizz, and a bright pointed light, which resembled lightning, shot from the tip. Lucius took Hermione's hand in his and guided it to clasp his wand. Then, with strong fingers he turned it to point to his chest. Hermione resisted, but the look in his eyes was so ferociously determined that she let him guide her hand. Just before the spell pouring from the wand tip touched his flesh he spoke sharply. "Fuck me."

Hermione started to move, working her body over his as she had done so often before. And then, his hand still guiding hers clutching the wand, he pushed it to point to his chest. The white light hit him and he sucked in sharply. A hissing noise rose up and Hermione saw an angry red mark appear.

"It's burning you!" she exclaimed.

"Not a burn," he moaned through gritted teeth, "although the agony is not dissimilar, but the sharpest pain. I want it. I want it with you on me. Now ... do as I said: fuck me."

Hermione moved on him again and as she did he gripped her hand ever tighter and began moving the wand over his flesh. As it moved it left that same red line of etched pain. Lucius' face was twisted with pure feeling and he was moaning incessantly, his neck arched to escape the extreme sensation gripping his body. But now his hand relaxed and Hermione found herself still moving the wand over his flesh by herself, tracing the red line across his torso, marking him as she had done with her own fingers before. She continued to ride him, rising and falling, her body working his cock as only she knew, pulling more pleasure from him than he could have ever imagined. He writhed under her but held her upon him, hissing his rapture out, "Yes, yes ... you know what we need, you know how we survive ... fuck, I love you with all my being, Hermione, my Hermione. Don't stop that, don't ever stop that, let me feel it, let me feel you." She brought the wand tip closer to his flesh and he cried out as sensation ripped through him.

Hermione was bolder now; her love of him warped into her anger and hatred of all he stood for, combining into consuming passion, her resentment of all he revealed in her simply fed the sensations of physical bliss he was fuelling in her body once again. She watched entranced, milking his body with natural instinct as the angry red lines continued to form. Lucius' head was thrown back in delicious torment as pleasure and pain blended through him. His fingers reflexively clenched on her hips and she ground her pussy down onto him while the wand touched his flesh, searing him more than ever. He cried out, low and desperate: "Do it, witch, do it, do it."

Hermione moved faster, still trailing the wand over him, but leaning back a little to brace herself and ride him more concertedly than before. And then his eyes darted open and he threw his head up to lock into hers. "Coming ... coming, my beautiful love ..." And with an expelled groan he exploded into her just as her wand came to rest on his sternum, spreading the surest agony straight into him. His hips jerked off the bed, propelling her high up, but she clenched around him, pressing him down again. His eyes widened – never had he felt anything like it; the rest of the world vanished. There was only her and ecstasy. His come burst from him three, four times and carried her with him, her own pleasure torn from her.

When at last his body sagged, Hermione threw the wand to the ground and collapsed onto him, feeling his dampness against her, the damp not only of his sweat, but also his blood.

They lay in hot, heavy silence for some time, the only sound their deep, mutual breathing.

At length, Hermione rolled off and lay against him. Her fingers came up, tentatively hovering over the marks on his chest. "Do you want me to heal them?"

"No. They must stay."

"They look very angry. They'll hurt for a long time if left untreated."

"Yes. That's what I want."

Hermione looked away. His apparent self-punishment, this mortification he seemed to need to inflict on himself, was not something she was going to dispute at this point. As much as it pained her, as much as it screamed against the rational in her, she understood him too well.

"Will you stay away from Kresvidyev?"

He didn't answer.

"I mean, if he finds out his plans have been foiled he may suspect you. What if he comes after you? Lucius?" She sat up, suddenly terrified at the realisation.

"I learnt my lesson the hard way last time. He is nothing like the Dark Lord. My allegiance to Kresvidyev is purely ... convenient ... a reminder to myself of the familiar. That is all. I shall not make the same mistake with him that I made with Voldemort. I hold little respect for him. If I feel threatened, I shall respond."

"Respond?"

"Don't think about it. I don't want you to think about it. I want you to think about you and me together, that is all."

She sighed. "I hate it when you're not inside me."

"Me too."

"I hate leaving you."

"Do you have to go tonight?"

"You know I do."

He lay still, running his hands through her hair. "Cancelling the World Cup is a disaster for the entire Wizarding World."

"Not as big a disaster as a terrorist attack."

"Shacklebolt may not believe you. He may not call it off."

"Then he's a fool."

"We knew that." He paused, thoughtful. "Is that what I am, a terrorist?"

"Yes."

"But you love me anyway."

"Yes."

"And I love you ... Hermione."

And he kissed her again. He kissed her so tenderly, so sweetly and deeply, that she could only believe he was her most perfect person. All else was forgotten.

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**Oh dear oh dear oh dear. **

**But Lucius ... you are just ... *sigh* ...**

**Oh dear.**

**Let me know if you're still out there. LL x**


	21. Chapter 21

**Here we are, all you lovely patient people. Lots happening here. Thanks once again for all your support and lovely words - I can't tell you how much it means to me. LL x**

**Thank you to the outstanding apk and the glorious darklotus for all your advice and help. x  
**

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It was with an odd sense of displacement that Hermione returned home later that day.

She was not in denial about Lucius' intentions at the World Cup - she would take the information and tell Shacklebolt - but she was fully aware that her need for him was undiminished. In the moments of being utterly alone, which are so rare for a mother of young children, a ripple would pass through her, transient and elusive. If it was anything akin to guilt or shame it was soon pushed back by the memories of the man holding her, entering her and telling her of his love. And when she picked up her children from school and nursery, the enforced business of domestic routine squeezed all emotion from her mind.

She knew she was not questioning herself. She knew she should. She told herself that telling Shacklebolt to cancel the World Cup and thereby preventing any deaths was enough. The wizarding world would be safe and she and Lucius could carry on. Win-win.

But her involvement with her family seemed distanced, muffled, as if she was interacting with them through a gauze. When Rose looked up at her with bright eyes and declared she was Star of the Week at school, the disclosure seemed to pass thickly through a fog before it reached her mother. Hermione smiled and continued washing her hair as she had done for the last five years, but her hands rubbed like some automaton's over her daughter's scalp, which registered with odd tactility on her fingertips.

The world was at odds, and as much as her mind was screaming at her to acknowledge it, she did not.

-xxoOoxx-

She asked for an urgent appointment with Shacklebolt the next day. He had been busy; Hermione had insisted.

He made her wait. She had been shown into his office and had sat there for twenty minutes before the door was opened. It was shut perfunctorily and the Minister paced in and sat himself down with tense force. He started rearranging papers in front of him, not looking at her. His brows were creased. She could see his nose, still markedly sore from Lucius' perfectly placed punch. It had clearly been broken, despite him now having healed it (and not terribly well, she noted); the bruise had crept maliciously to discolour and distend his left eye, giving him the appearance of a rather incompetent thug. Hermione tried hard not to let the corners of her mouth rise.

"Hermione," Shacklebolt stated at last, still focusing on his desk. "I'm very busy this morning. What is it you want?"

He was clearly in a foul mood. It did not deter her.

"I have received intelligence that there is to be a terrorist attack at the Opening Ceremony of the Quidditch World Cup. You must cancel it and the entire tournament."

At last he looked at her. His face was blank. For a moment he did not move, simply stared at her curiously, as if her body may have been replaced by an incubus. "What?"

"I said you need to cancel the World Cup; there is going to be an attack on it resulting in loss of life."

"Hermione ..."

"Yes?"

"Umm ..." He skewed his mouth to the side and rocked slightly back and forth in his chair, casting his eyes almost with amusement over her face. Hermione persisted, unaware of how ludicrous she must sound to his ears.

"You need to do it immediately, Minister, so that everyone is informed in good time."

Shacklebolt simply stared at her before letting out a sudden laugh of disbelief. "What the hell has got into you?"

"I'm preventing a disaster."

"But ... what? ... What is this intelligence? Who has it come from?"

"I can't tell you that, but it is fact. It will happen unless you cancel it."

"Hermione ... you can't just waltz into my office and state this. It's completely surreal. Cancelling the World Cup is unthinkable."

"Then hundreds of innocent people will die."

Now his tone became harsher, not because he was starting to believe her, but because of her obstinacy. "Who is responsible for this?"

"It's being masterminded by Ivan Kresvidyev."

"Kresvidyev?" he scoffed. "Crap. We've investigated him thoroughly. We've been able to find little if anything. You may have had that breakthrough in Casterford, but it amounted to nothing. Even Malfoy, the bastard, hasn't been of much use to him."

"You're wrong about Kresvidyev. He has quietly been accumulating power and funds. And he has support over here. He plans an attack on the Opening Ceremony. It will happen."

Shacklebolt was tense with confused fury. "How the hell do you know this?"

"I can't tell you that."

He stood up suddenly and leaned aggressively over the table at her. "You bloody well will!"

Hermione did not flinch. "I know that if I disclose my source my family will be in danger. Minister, you must believe me. This is very much real and true, but I cannot tell you anymore than that. I fear for my children. I won't tell you anything more."

Shacklebolt sank back down into his chair. He did not speak and stared at his desk, as if trying to memorise its contents. Hermione watched as the Minister for Magic brought his hand up to his mouth and started to gnaw distractedly on his nails. His voice was oddly hollow. "How is this going to happen?"

"I don't know. All I know is that he intends to cause a massive disruption at the World Cup and there are likely to be some deaths."

"Hermione ... you need to tell me your source."

"I won't do that, Minister."

"But this is ridiculous." Panic was welling up in his voice. "I can't cancel it. Do you know how much investment has been put into this? How much money will be lost? Hundreds of millions! Billions even! The World Cup is a major boost to the wizarding economy which has positive repercussions into the Muggle economy. The Prime Minister is attending, endorsing it. It is unthinkable to cancel it."

"People are going to die, Minister."

"I need details, Hermione. I need fucking details!" He slammed his hand so hard down on the table she thought he may have broken bones.

"I don't have any. I give you my word on that. I only know that Kresvidyev is planning an attack on the World Cup."

"_Who told you?"_

She shook her head.

"I could have you locked up for withholding information!"

"Minister ... I cannot and will not tell you anymore."

"I need to get the World Cup security team in here. I'm not making any decisions until I've spoken to them. Damn you, Hermione. Damn you to fucking hell! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Under the circumstances she allowed him his furious insults. "I'm preventing a disaster, Minister. A disaster on your watch. You couldn't let this go ahead and allow hundreds of deaths when you knew it could have been prevented, could you?"

"What the hell is it with you?" He had stood and was pacing now, running his fingers over his head, glaring at her, trying to offload his panic and confusion onto her. "You've been so bloody distanced recently. I don't remember you as the same person."

For the first time, Hermione averted her eyes from him.

"I can't do this without consultation. You'll have to be involved."

"You're the Minister for Magic. You have the authority to veto anything, including the Quidditch World Cup."

"I'm not going to bloody cancel the thing until this has been thoroughly investigated!" His temper flared from him. As hard as she tried not to be, Hermione was intimidated. "Go now. I'll be in touch."

Hermione knew when she was not wanted but could not leave without a final word. "You will cancel it, won't you?"

"Go, Hermione."

She left quietly and shut the door on him frantically scribbling away at a parchment.

-xxoOoxx-

The following morning she was awoken by a sharp and insistent tapping. In her bleary haze of interrupted sleep she thought one of her children was banging on the door, but it was too harsh and focused for that. It must be a stick of some kind ... a cane rapping at her door ... a cane with a metal head ... She sat up, startled and short of breath. As consciousness returned to her she realised that the tapping sound was not metal hitting her door but a beak tapping at her window. There was an owl perched on the sill with a note between its talons. It was 5:45 am. Ron grunted, turned over and carried on sleeping. Hermione rose and staggered thickly over to the window, pulling it open and taking the small parchment from the owl's grasp. It fluttered off immediately into the darkness which still pervaded the new day. After closing the window, she sat back on the bed and uncurled the note. She was requested at the Ministry. Summoned was a more appropriate term.

'_For the attention of Mrs. H. Weasley. _

_You are to attend the Crisis Committee meeting at 11am today in the Investigation Chamber. _

_KS, Minister for Magic.'_

Hermione let the parchment slip from her fingers onto the floor. The house was silent. If she closed her eyes she could pretend she was in an entirely different world. One where she had never married Ron, one where her children were yet to be born, one where the Quidditch World Cup had never been conceived of. One where she would open her eyes again and it would be Lucius lying beside her.

The tone of Shacklebolt's message disturbed her. Why could he not simply cancel it?

She knew the answer. It would be impossible to do such a thing without the full support of security officials and the highest Ministry officers. But with her current warped perception of life, she still hoped that it would happen with minimal fuss.

At five to eleven she walked purposefully to the Investigation Chamber, keen to convince them quickly and effectively of what needed to be done through cooperative discussion.

She opened the door. Two rows of wizards and witches sat in silence, about six in each row. She could make out the imposing figure of Shacklebolt in the middle of the first row. The light was dim save for that shining on a single isolated chair facing them. Bile rose quickly in her throat and her grip on the door handle tightened instinctively.

"We can begin early. Sit down, Mrs Weasley." Bernard Underhill, seated beside Shacklebolt, indicated the empty chair.

Hermione's first instinct was to turn and walk away from them. Was this to be some sort of interrogation? Now feeling foolishly naive, she had hoped that it would be a collective and sensible discussion of like-minded people. But here she was, as if she was under suspicion. And as is the case in these situations, false guilt washed through her. Compelled to do so, she took uncertain but steady steps towards the chair.

She sat down. It was a hard, ungiving seat. The light shone in her eyes, making it impossible to see the faces staring at her clearly. But with Granger determination she held her head high.

"The Minister tells us you wish to cancel the Quidditch World Cup." The unknown voice came slightly to the right of centre.

"I don't wish it to be cancelled, but it is essential that that happens."

"He says you have evidence that there is an act of terrorism targeting it."

"Yes. There is."

"We would like you to tell us how you know this." Another voice spoke now, a female voice, tight and clipped. It was unfamiliar to Hermione.

"I will not do that as I have reason to believe my children will be in danger if I do."

"Mrs Weasley." Another voice again, from the left of the front row, but Hermione could once again not see the face. "When the Minister was told by you of this supposed plot, he summoned us all, and we have spent all of last night and this morning investigating the possibility that you are indeed correct."

"I'm glad to hear ..."

"Mrs Weasley, you will not interrupt." She was silenced almost immediately. The tone of voice drew her immediate silence out decisively.

The voice continued. "You told Minister Shacklebolt" – who had not yet spoken, Hermione noted – "that Ivan Kresvidyev is behind this. We have gone to great lengths to ascertain whether there is any chance of this being likely.

"You told us that you had witnesses who had seen Kresvidyev in discussion with Lucius Malfoy. If this meeting did indeed take place, which in itself is dubious, then there is nothing to indicate it led to anything significant; Malfoy is unreliable. He is impotent these days. We think much of his talk is bluff and bravado as much for his benefit as ours, to boost his now crushed ego. Kresvidyev has nothing."

"That isn't true."

"You will be silent until we ask you to speak, Mrs Weasley!"

"The security we have worked months to put in place for the World Cup is unbreakable. We have complete confidence that even if there were to be an attack it would be thwarted before anything would be noticed. And we do _not_ believe there will be an attack. The cost to the magical economy and to wizarding morale would be catastrophic if the World Cup were to be cancelled. Unless you can provide us with proper evidence that this supposed attack is indeed going to happen, and to reveal your source, there is nothing we feel needs to be done."

Hermione's eyes stared blankly in disbelief. Her mouth ran dry. There was silence for some time before the man's voice sounded again with an oily veneer of respectable curiosity.

"Unless you feel there is something else you wish to add, Mrs Weasley?"

"How do you mean?"

"We find it interesting that you were the one who reported the sighting of Kresvidyev in Casterford, and now you are the one reporting this alleged plot."

"Are you accusing me of inappropriate dealings?"

"You tell us, Mrs Weasley."

She stood up, enraged. "I am trying to prevent a crime against humanity. I am trying to do what is good and right and decent and you have the audacity and lunacy to accuse me!"

"You will sit down, Mrs Weasley. We are simply trying to work out how you, more than anyone else in the wizarding world, seem to have so much information about Kresvidyev."

"I've done my research properly."

"Mrs Weasley. We have found nothing whatsoever to corroborate this theory of yours. We will not be cancelling the World Cup. To do so for no reason other than to humour the delusions of an over-wrought, domestically-frustrated witch would be criminal in itself." The man speaking leaned in, revealing his thin, angular features in the light. She at last recognised him as Clifton Palgrave, the head of Wizarding Counter Intelligence. His voice now contained a sickening smoothness which turned her stomach. "Hermione, we would like you to take a leave of absence. Perhaps some more time with your family would ease your concerns."

"How dare you?"

"Go home, Hermione." It was Shacklebolt who spoke now. "Maybe have a little holiday. I hear the Maldives are particularly relaxing at this time of year. We'll be in touch."

Nobody said another word. Hermione stood slowly, her breath pulled in hard through her nose.

"You will regret this, Minister."

"That will be all, Mrs Weasley."

Hermione found herself suddenly outside the closed door of the Investigation Chamber, not entirely sure she could remember walking out of it.

A sickening sense of dread and panic was churning through her, for her children, for her family, for herself, for Lucius.

_Lucius._

The Ministry could rot in hell. She turned and began to hurry through the corridors, intent only on seeing one person. She had to see him. She had to tell him.

-xxoOoxx-

Once Hermione was out on the streets of London, already growing busy with people on lunch breaks, she stopped at last. It was stormy. The wind buffeted her, picking up even as she stood there. Standing stock still, she closed her eyes and let humanity and air swirl around her. She nearly Apparated to St James' Gardens but remembered in time that any magic of that kind would be detected instantly. She could manage a discreet floo, but nothing else.

However, her need for Lucius remained undiminished and she took herself as quickly as she could to Diagon Alley and from there to a small and undistinguished book shop she frequented tucked down a side street.

"Hello there, Mrs Weasley," greeted Delia Rimblethorpe, the owner, as broad in girth as she was high in stature (not that there was much in the way of stature). "Looking for something specific today? Bit windy out there, isn't it? Always affects my spells, not that I use the old wand much these days."

On any other day Hermione would have enjoyed putting the world to rights, but on this occasion she focused hard not to snap caustically at the rotund witch. "Actually, Delia, I just want to use your floo. I'll pay you for the powder. Is twenty galleons enough?"

Delia's eyes widened with mercenary curiosity. "Well, yes, of course, my dear, but I only ever charge one. There really is no need to ..."

"No, it's fine. I'm engaged in some official business, you understand, and it is very important that my coming here and using the floo remains strictly between us. Please ... take the money." Hermione pressed the twenty galleon note into the podgy fingers. Delia glanced up, a flash of intrigue darting across her face. Hermione averted her gaze. Not only had she been asked to take a break from her job, she was now resorting to bribery as well. A flush of colour rose in her cheeks and she licked her lips with distracted guilt. She felt like a criminal. Perhaps she was.

"Well, thank you ... I'll just ... that's all fine then, Mrs Weasley." Delia stood by for a moment longer, watching as Hermione took the floo powder in her hand.

Hermione was about to use it when she turned and fixed the shopkeeper with a ferocious glare. "Thank you, Delia."

With a flustered bustle, Delia shuffled off into the back room.

Concentrating hard, Hermione stepped into the fireplace, threw down the powder and declared, "23 St James' Gardens."

She arrived in the dining room. The house, just as it had been before, was silent. Hermione tore through it, calling for him, searching the rooms frantically. But this time was different; he was definitely not here.

Defeated, she slumped on the sofa in the living room, that same sofa she had laid back on the first time she had come to give herself to him.

"All alone? Just desserts at last."

She sat up, shocked to hear a voice, but immediately glancing up, she identified it as coming from a portrait. A disdainful wizard with a pinched, tight face of familiar arrogance stared down at her. She knew those eyes. She knew this portrait; it was Lucius' father, Abraxas. Hermione stood, defiant against his prejudiced hatred.

"I need to speak to Lucius. Where is he?"

"This isn't his main house, you stupid girl." The haughty blond sneered. "And he says you're clever ... You should know full well where he is."

"But it's Wednesday ... he's always here on a Wednesday."

"No, little fool, it's _Thursday._ He was here yesterday. He waited for you and you didn't come."

"But ... Thursday ...? I ... I lost track of time ..."

"Oh dear ... not quite so ardent anymore perhaps?" The clipped voice rang with amused sarcasm.

"It's nothing to do with that. I've been preoccupied with something vitally important. Lucius will understand."

"Will he now? Judging by the mood he left in last night, I wouldn't be so sure."

Hermione glanced up at the smirking image of Abraxas, refusing to let his words affect her. "I have to see him. Is he at the Manor?"

"Of course. With her."

Now Hermione's stomach did turn over.

"Who?"

Abraxas chuckled. "Oh, I have struck fear into you, haven't I, you little trollop? You may be his only current paramour, but he still goes home to her most nights. A proper wife. A pureblood wife. He'll never leave her."

"I don't expect him to." The mere mention of Lucius' wife made her want to retch, but she stood tall and said again, "I need to see him. If he comes here please tell him I'm looking for him."

And Hermione marched out of the room to the sound of the taunting chuckle of Lucius' father.

Going into the bathroom, she shut the door heavily behind her and slumped down it, tears streaming down her face. She was wretched. Heaped on top of her disastrous experience at the Ministry and the fear of the World Cup was now more turmoil about Lucius – was he angry with her for not appearing yesterday? Was he back at the Manor with Narcissa? She pictured them eating together, laughing, making love. Hermione groped to open the lid of the toilet and vomited into it. Normality was slipping through her fingers.

She at last steadied herself with a long drink of water. It had only been two days ago Lucius had told her of his love for her, but should she doubt it? Did his father's words ring true? Perhaps they did. Brushing her teeth and splashing cold water over her blotched face, she tried to banish them from her mind. Still she knew what must be done. She must speak to him, there was no doubt. She wanted to speak to him.

Taking the floo in the dining room again, she returned to Delia's shop but walked swiftly out before the woman even noticed she'd arrived. Hiding around a dim corner, Hermione extracted her wand, pictured the outside of Malfoy Manor as clearly as she could and Disapparated. Immediately the process brought her queasiness back with a vengeance.

-xxoOoxx-

She was in pain as soon as she landed. Her right leg hurt. And her arms. And her back. She had landed in a bush, a sharp prickling bush of some kind.

"Shit." Her voice sounded surprisingly loudly even in the tempestuous gusts of the stormy air. Extricating herself with difficulty, she plucked off the twigs and leaves, some of which had embedded themselves in her skin, and stood up gingerly. She had landed just outside the boundaries of the Manor, beyond a point where any wards would detect her. But one advantage of having been inside the house before (albeit in circumstances she was now trying hard to forget) was that the wards were less likely to reject her. It was a risk, but after detecting a weak spot at the divergence of ley lines, and using her unique skill, intuition and Ministry magical privileges, she passed through the shimmer of magical barriers undetected. Hermione breathed deep. Not only had she succeeded in slipping through invisibly for now (as she had wanted in case Lucius was not at home), but she was also reassured that Lucius had protected himself comfortably from any prospective Ministry intruders. She knew none had the combination of skills and circumstance necessary to do what she had just managed.

Her cuts still stung, but she barely noticed. Creeping closer to the manor, she found herself at the back of a lawn with a view to the rear terrace. It was a gloomy day, with the buffeting wind growing increasingly turbulent, and the large house beyond was mostly dark, but there was a single light in a room on the ground floor and a few others shining from rooms further up.

Her resolve faltered. What if he wasn't here? What if the only person here was Narcissa? Or Draco even? That would be unthinkable. How could she explain herself to them? But she had to take a chance.

Keeping to shadows and behind trees and bushes, she crept towards the imposing building, which seemed to rise up with such dominance it blotted out the entire sky.

She would try to look in through the window to ascertain who was there, hoping against hope it was Lucius.

As she prepared to steal up the steps of the terrace, a low deep bark suddenly broke the air, the wind carrying it forcefully towards her. She gasped in surprise and stepped back. There was the sound of fast, four-legged running, but before she could grasp from which direction it was coming, she had been knocked off her feet by a vast dog, dark and powerful. The animal, a wolfhound of some kind, stood over her, preventing her escape, but luckily not attacking. She could smell its hot breath as it growled with a rumbling menace, its muzzle only an inch or so from her face. She froze, averted her eyes and waited. What else could she do?

Footsteps sounded on the terrace.

"Cassius?" She knew the voice. Her eyes closed and her breath caught in her mouth. "Cassius? Where are you, boy? What have you found?"

The dog growled again and barked loudly, alerting its owner to her presence. The footsteps grew closer until they were standing beside her and the dog.

"Good boy, good dog. Back inside. You've done well. Go back." The hound whimpered with pleasure at his owner's praise before Hermione heard it padding softly back up the steps.

Hermione lay on the ground, staring up as the person looked down on her.

"Why are you here? You shouldn't come here." The voice was hard and anxious.

Hermione met the eyes of Lucius Malfoy and pushed herself to her feet.

"I had to ... I had to ..."

"Don't you understand? I didn't know you were coming. I -"

"You're angry. Your father said -"

"_What?_ My _father?"_

"His portrait. I went to St James' Gardens. He said you were angry about Wednesday. Shacklebolt's a fool. I had to speak to you. I had to see you ..."

There was a noise from the house. Lucius darted his head round, clear anxiety on his face. "Get back! You mustn't be seen." To her ears, his voice was tight and aggrieved. Her nausea threatened to overwhelm her again.

Instinctively, Hermione pushed herself back, cowering behind a bush, her adrenaline and fear rendering her immune to the cold. "I'll go. I shouldn't have come," she stuttered, her mind blank.

"No! Wait there! Don't you dare go."

And before she could dissent, he had turned and paced heavily back into the house.

Hermione strained her ears, desperate to hear anything. She was sure she could detect the low mumble of voices but could not distinguish them at all.

It seemed to take an age. If someone had told her an hour had passed with her hunched down behind a camellia bush in the gardens of Malfoy Manor she would not have been surprised. She huddled into herself, but managed for now to ward off the cold; all her senses were attuned to what may be going on inside the house between Lucius and his companion.

He seemed angry with her. Perhaps his father was right. In the darkness of a stormy dusk, as thoughts of Lucius' involvement in the World Cup plot ran through her mind, she tried to muster her own anger and indignation. Minutes ticked away and cold at last sank through her. And suddenly, crouched in the gathering gloom with a chill capturing her bones, Hermione doubted: doubted him, doubted herself, doubted this whole crazed mess they were in.

Still her senses craved only his return, but her resentment of losing her grip on normality did not diminish, and when at last footsteps approached again she stood and set her face straight.

"Are you alright?" Lucius asked, not quite meeting her eye, his voice still tense. If he was indeed angry with her, it merely made her more aggrieved towards him.

"Yes."

"Why did you bloody come here? Don't you know that you could have ..." He stopped, turning away and running his hand nervously through his hair.

She looked hard at him, her mind as chilled as her body. "I'm not sure why I'm still here. And I'm cold."

Lucius slackened a little. "I ... I just ... Come inside."

"I can't do that. Not if she's still here."

He frowned. "Who?"

"Your wife."

"_Narcissa?_ No ... she's ... I don't know where she is. I haven't seen her for days. I never see her anymore."

"Not here?"

"No."

"But who ...?"

There was a moment's silence.

He reached over for her. "Hermione. Come inside. You must be freezing." His voice had softened. She evaded his grasp.

"So who were you talking to?"

"There's no one here anymore. Come on."

"Your father said you were angry yesterday. And you're angry now that I came here."

"I was worried about you yesterday. You never forget Wednesdays. For Merlin's sake, come in now. I can't believe you've been out here all this time."

"You told me to wait, remember? Did you hope I'd go?" Her voice was flat.

"No! But there was nothing I could do. You would have been put in danger if you'd come in. I had to ..." He sighed before quickly reverting to talking about the day before. "I was so worried yesterday. Why didn't you come?"

"I had to go to the Ministry. I had to tell Shacklebolt, you know that. And he ... didn't listen. They made me go back today. They made me feel as if I'd masterminded the whole thing myself."

"I didn't know what was going on."

"So you _were_ angry? Your father was right."

"_No._ Not angry. I just ..." He stepped up to her and placed one hand on her arm while the other brushed her cheek. "You're so cold."

"Who were you with, Lucius? Just now. Who was here?"

"Come inside."

"Tell me who you were fucking well with!" He averted his eyes and gave no verbal response. It told Hermione enough; her stomach heaved. "Has he gone now? Completely?"

"Yes. Completely."

Lucius was stroking up and down her arm, stepping in closer so that she could smell his breath falling soft but steady over her.

"Finalising details, were you?" Her voice was hard and cold, as cold as her numb hands.

He didn't respond and tried to pull her in closer to him. She resisted.

"I'm sorry I made you wait out here. I'm here now. Come on, come on, my darling, let me warm you."

But Hermione only stood rigid, eyes closed, as he stroked and caressed her. "What am I doing? What am I doing? Why the hell am I here? _What the hell am I doing?"_

Lucius ignored her, instead leaning down and starting to kiss over her. "I hated when you didn't come. I hated not having you yesterday. I needed you. I need you so much."

And, once again, she felt herself soften. Hermione breathed deeply and let his luxuriant aroma engulf her. He enclosed her into him now and stroked her hair, glancing down over her arms. "What have you done to yourself? You're bleeding."

"Am I?"

He planted kisses on her, along her battered arms and over her face and against her lips. "Come along. You're here now. You're with me." Lucius put his arms around her waist and guided her up the steps.

And for only the second time in her life, Hermione was led inside Malfoy Manor.

Hermione remembered the room in which she found herself. There was a painting to the left of the fireplace: a landscape with a castle in the middle distance. She recalled it well. The last time she was here, as she had studied it intently, she had guessed it was somewhere in the Lake District. There were two cattle staring curiously out from the foreground, one with horns, the other without. She remembered them too. She had focussed on them amidst the interminable pain of Bellatrix Lestrange's _Cruciatus _curse. Now she looked back into the large eyes of the cows once again.

Lucius led her to sit on a large sofa of dark green leather. How fitting, she thought, the colour. She couldn't remember that having been there before.

He pointed his wand at the fireplace and the fire billowed and flamed, instantly sending more heat out into the room.

Hermione glanced at the table. On it were two long-stemmed glasses which had clearly contained red wine, one empty, one half-full. Next to them was an ash-tray; a cigarette stub clung precariously to the rim, several others lay in it. As she inhaled now, she noted that the smell of cigarette smoke still hung oppressively in the room.

"I didn't know you smoked."

"I don't."

She looked up. He was standing over her, staring down, for once the clear certainty in his eyes absent.

Hermione said with as much detached determination as she hoped she felt, "I need to talk to you. I can't stay. I need to talk to you now."

Lucius bent at the knee and placed his hands on her, his face as open as she'd ever seen. She tried to ignore it.

He spoke, soft and insistent. "Not now. Don't talk now. You must stay for a while. You will, you will."

And then he pushed her legs open gently but firmly with his hands and she did nothing to stop him. And then she felt cool air against her and knew he'd vanished her underwear. And then he brought his head down between her legs.

She closed her eyes and knew her hands were stroking over his hair.

And she was warm again.

* * *

**Ever more complicated ...**

**More to come. Thoughts, as ever, make me smile and muse. LL x**


	22. Chapter 22

**I know, I know. Apologies. You may want to go back and read the last chapter to remind yourself what happened. It has, after all, been a while since my last update. **

**I have been writing a multitude of different things over the last few weeks/months - some original stuff, this (which I am confident I will now draw to a close quite soon), and, very excitingly (for me, anyway!), a new Hook fic which should be making an appearance soon. I'm also increasing my facebook presence again - don't forget to head over and like the page - 'laurielove'. It's a great way to keep in touch with you all.**

**For those of you who don't want to go back and read previous chapters: **

**Hermione and Lucius are having an intense affair despite the fact that he is in cahoots with a Dark Wizard called Kresvidyev who is planning a terrorist attack on the forthcoming Opening Ceremony of the Quidditch World Cup. **

**Hermione tries to persuade the Ministry to cancel the opening ceremony and instead finds herself under investigation. She goes to the Manor to tell Lucius the situation only to discover that Kresvidyev is there with him. Hermione hides in the garden, becoming increasingly cold, until Kresvidyev has gone. Despite her initial anger and intense coldness, she lets Lucius warm her in his usual way ...** **(If you don't know what I mean by 'in his usual way' then I heartily recommend you reading previous chapters! ;-)**

* * *

Her pleasure, when it came, washed out in warm waves and seemed to bind her to the fabric of the place, even more so than in St James' Gardens, if that was possible.

Afterwards, Lucius remained kneeling between her legs, resting his head gently on her thigh. She lay, eyes closed, one hand still on his smooth hair.

'Shacklebolt hasn't cancelled it.'

'Did you actually think he would?'

'I suppose not, but I hoped.' She opened her heavy eyes and noted again the two glasses and the stumpy, defiant remains of cigarettes. 'And now what? They've effectively banned me from the Ministry. I'll be under surveillance and there will be an enquiry into my dealings. And the World Cup will go ahead and hundreds of people will die. You have ensured that.'

Her words fell unremarkably between them. His only response was to push two fingers up into her which tapped at her g-spot once they were nestled inside. And Hermione's only response was to keen protractedly and grind down onto them. 'You're warm now,' he muttered. His thumb rubbed with steady determination over her clit. Hermione clasped his wrist hard, keeping his fingers as deep inside her as possible.

'I'm mad. I must be. You have made me go mad,' she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut against it all but managing only to focus more on the sensation of him.

'You're so beautiful when you come. Right here.' His eyes were trained on her sex while his fingers worked concertedly. 'Your flesh darkens and plumps up as if it was going to burst out right before my eyes.'

'Fuller, Lucius ... put more in me. Hold me. You need to hold onto me because I can't stop myself falling. I can't stop this madness. More inside me.'

'I want to watch you. Spread wider.'

She pushed her legs as wide apart as she could and slid down the sofa. The fingers of his left hand filled the soft succulence of her while his thumb continued to circle and thrum over her clit. Her back arched and she wailed in half-delirium, half-protest. 'Not enough! God, I need more, please, Lucius, please.'

Spitting on his right forefinger, he brought it up to tease the puckered little flower of her arse. With prods and pokes, it opened for him and swallowed up the finger as it worked its way inside. Hermione sighed out long, her body settling at last. Lucius pressed the finger deeper inside with sweet teases and nudges, perfectly in tune with what he had already started. All the while he studied her, as in need of the sight of her as she was of the feel of him. With furrowed brows, he edged in another finger and watched in wonder as the rosebud stretched to allow it inside. Now two fingers were engulfed in her arse, two in her cunt, and his thumb worked and worked her clit.

She threw her head back and cried out, propelling the fingers deeper still into her. 'Madness ... it's all madness ... fucking beautiful madness ... it's coming, it's coming ... I'm falling apart ...' And she shook magnificently upon him as he held her on his fingers, her eyes blank, her hair wild, her mouth gaping.

Clearly reluctant to remove himself from the sight and feel of her, Lucius stood, pushing himself slowly to his feet. She stared up at him, her eyes eventually refocusing on her tall lover.

'Tell me about him.' She spoke clearly, her body melting but her mind alert.

'Who?'

'Kresvidyev.' She saw no point in pretending. She glanced at the ashtray. 'He seems to like a smoke.'

Lucius sucked in a breath through his teeth almost painfully. He stood furtively in front of the table where the butts lay, as if trying to conceal them. 'I had no choice but to let him come here.'

'Clearly.'

He glared. 'I hate it when you're bloody sarcastic. Don't speak like that.' Tension mounted between them again quickly. 'Why do you have to ask about him?'

'I'm here, Lucius. I'm with you. I want you. Don't ask me why I'm still here, but I am. At least have the decency to be honest with me.'

'He's a very powerful man. He is vastly more powerful than the obstinate, blind fools at the Ministry realise. If I do not comply with his demands he will make life very difficult for me.'

'You told me he didn't intimidate you. Not like Voldemort.'

'Even then, he is not to be underestimated. I have to be careful. And so do you.'

'Does he know about me?'

'No, not as far as I'm aware. I have taken great care, of course I have, but you put that in jeopardy by coming here tonight.'

'I didn't know he would be here. Your father implied you were here with Narcissa.'

He tutted loudly and shot her a fiercely reprimanding look. 'My father is embittered, deluded and, more importantly, dead. You know better than to believe a bigoted old portrait.'

She fell quiet, aware of her body still drooping with recent pleasure. She was still warm. She liked this room. Even this room. Even now. She didn't want to leave. The bickering between them, despite its subject matter, was strangely domestic.

'What did he want from you?'

'What he always wants. Assurances of funds, assurances of loyalty. Names.'

'Names?'

'Yes.'

'Names of whom?'

'You know ...'

'No, I don't.'

'Bloody hell, Hermione! Of course you do. Ministry officials, businessmen, significant British wizards.'

'Targets for the World Cup.'

'I haven't thought about it like that.'

'Why not?'

He leaned into her, spitting his words out angrily. 'Because it is bloody agony if I do!'

'Is it?'

He stood back, shutting his eyes despairingly. Now disquiet stirred quickly in her.

'Did you give him the name of my husband?'

Lucius was silent, turned away from her, running his hands through his hair again.

'Did you?'

'Yes.'

And she was suddenly in as much pain as she had been when Bellatrix hurled her curses at her. In the same room. In the same agony. The pretence of domestic familiarity evaporated and with it any lingering erotic lethargy and she stood quickly, pulling up her clothes. She reeled, nausea grabbing her hard.

_Madness._ That was it. She had lost all grip on sanity. She turned for the door and stumbled towards it.

'Hermione.'

She didn't stop.

'Please!'

Her fingers were on the handle.

'Hermione, I tried to stop him. I tried. I told him it would be impossible. That causing death was not the way to gain power. That the security was too tight and he was risking himself. I told him people don't think as they did when the Dark Lord first rose to power. I tried everything.'

She turned back. 'Did it work?'

He shook his head, a short terse shake conveying his confused shame.

'Why bother? Too late, Lucius, too late.'

He shrugged weakly, staring at the floor. 'I did try.'

'So what are you going to do about it now?'

He lifted his eyes to her, silently, hopeless and impotent.

Hermione searched him, realisation creeping maliciously but quickly through her. Her thoughts were voiced. 'You're pathetic really, aren't you? You're just as pathetic as you always were. Why do I love you? Why? I don't know. I don't understand it. I have to go now. I have to go before my life falls apart completely.'

'I want you to stay tonight.' His voice caught.

'I can't. I said I'd cook spaghetti Bolognese for the children. Ron's is crap. He adds too many onions. They must be wondering where I am.' Her voice was utterly detached from the turmoil of her soul.

Lucius rushed over, slamming the door in her face and taking her head in his hands. His eyes were frantic, his face twisted with regret. 'I love you. Hermione, I love you. Stay with me, stay with me. I love you.'

She looked up at him, her eyes burning. 'I love you too. But I won't stay with you. You said you tried, Lucius. I have to try too. I have to try before I ruin everything.'

She pulled the door open and wrenched herself from his grasp.

'You've ruined _me!_ You've ruined all I am!' Lucius' voice echoed after her as she ran down the hall, out of the door and disapparated away from Malfoy Manor.

-xxoOoxx-

Lucius stood, the emptiness of his house intensifying his desolate isolation.

He had tried. He hated Kresvidyev as much as Hermione. But he was scared. Scared and bewildered. As much as he tried to deny it, the man did intimidate him. He knew the feeling well, and now it was flooding back. Confusion had led to this, confusion over his identity, his self-respect. He had wanted to stop it. He had vowed never again would he feel so emasculated. But in trying to regain some control and certainty over his life he had succeeded only in bringing those failings on himself once more. And on her.

He had tried to convince the man to put a halt to it. He _had_ tried.

_Too late._

And now, all he wanted was to have her back. To wake up in his own bed here with her beside him. Day in, day out. To hear her laughter ringing through the old spaces of his life. Her children could come here. They would love it here – the space, the gardens, the secret passages. The Manor warmed to children. He'd always wanted more than one.

He glanced down at the sofa, remembering how her dark hair had tumbled so luxuriantly and perfectly over the dark green fabric, how her cries of pleasure had been absorbed effortlessly into the panelling. She was right here.

Narcissa had not been into the house for weeks. He was vaguely aware she was in the Caribbean with a lover, the young one at the party a while back presumably. It didn't matter. The memory of her presence sickened him. Narcissa was the wrong person.

He crossed to his decanters and, hands trembling, poured himself a large brandy. The glass shook as he drank it down rapidly. This time the burn of liquid into his empty body did nothing to relieve him. He leaned heavily on the sideboard, steadying himself from the swirl of dark hollowness raging through his head. There was a noise at the door. He turned. She must be back.

'Hermione! Don't go again. Please don't -'

Lucius raced across and flung open the door. He was met only by the dark mournful eyes of Cassius, his wolf hound. The dog nuzzled his master's hand. Lucius' knees gave way and he slumped down onto the floor, throwing his arm over the animal's large back. 'Only you, boy, only you ...' Resting his head against the door frame, Lucius let his desolate misery pour out of him in great sobs while his hound softly nestled his long head in his lap.

-xxoOoxx-

'Where the hell have you been?'

Hermione barely responded to Ron's aggrieved query as she pushed open her heavy front door. Her children ran straightaway into her arms and she clasped them to her, holding them so tight she feared she would squeeze the air from them. It was after ten o'clock. They should have been in bed hours ago.

'Mummy,' came Rose's plaintive voice, 'why were you so long? You said we'd have spaghetti. Daddy made beans on toast instead. I'm still hungry.'

'OK, OK. I'm sorry I'm late, my lovely, something happened at work. Go and sit in the kitchen and I'll come and get you something.'

Rose duly ran off with Hugo in fast pursuit. Hermione stood and took off her coat, pulling it slowly from her weary shoulders.

'Where've you been?'

'Out.'

'I rang you. A lot.'

'My phone was off.'

'Harry was here.'

Hermione at last looked at her husband. 'Was he?'

'You know why.'

She hung up her coat, barely looking at him. 'They've asked me to take some holiday.'

'_Holiday?_ You've been fucking suspended! You're under investigation, Hermione! You're not allowed within a mile of the place. This arrived a couple of hours ago.' He handed over a parchment.

Hermione took it reluctantly. Its contents were sure to be of no surprise to her, but she didn't want to think about it now. She forced her eyes to scan the document.

'_Dear Mrs Weasley,_

_Further to our meeting with you today, you are hereby given an indefinite suspension from your employment at the Ministry of Magic. This suspension will last until investigations into your conduct have come to a satisfactory conclusion. If the Ministry is not satisfied with the outcome, your employment will be formally terminated. _

_During the time of your suspension, you are not permitted on or near Ministry property, nor are you to discuss Ministry matters with anyone, including close family. Neither are you to attend any Ministry-endorsed events. If it is found that you have abused these conditions, your sanctions will be intensified._

_We hope you enjoy your period of absence. We will be in touch to inform you of the date of your hearing._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Minister for Magic'_

'I had no idea, Mione. No fucking idea.' Ron stood, staring at her blankly, his head shaking in abject confusion.

She could only sigh, shrugging her shoulders futilely. 'They're fools. Complete fools. What did Harry say?' Hermione tossed the parchment dismissively onto the hall table, barely giving it a second glance.

'He filled me in. Can't bloody believe it, Hermione. Why haven't you mentioned any of this before?'

'I couldn't.' She hated this. 'How was Harry?'

'Bloody upset, of course. He mainly wanted to know how you were. I couldn't tell him. Didn't know where the hell you were.'

'I just wanted to go for a walk.'

'All night? You've done this to me before.'

'I ended up at a friend's. A muggle friend. I didn't want to think about magic.'

'Right.' Hermione heard the obvious note of doubt in his voice. She tried to get past him to get to the kitchen. His hand came out to grab her arm, stopping her abruptly. 'Are you sleeping with someone else?'

Nausea flooded her even more violently than it had earlier in the manor.

'What?'

'I said - are you fucking someone else, Hermione?'

'Ron ... I've practically lost my job, I've been accused of liaising with a dark wizard, I've raised the threat of an attack on the World Cup ... and you ask me _that?'_

'Answer my question.'

She lied. Instantly. Instinctively and defensively. 'No.'

'We haven't had sex for weeks.'

'I'm busy. So are you.'

'Are you helping Kresvidyev?'

'Oh for god's sake, not you as well.' She tried to get past him again. Again, he stopped her. She glared. 'Of course I'm bloody not. I mean, how the hell dare you ask me that?'

'So how do you know so much about him?'

'I can't tell you that.'

'I'm your husband, Hermione.' His voice had dropped with hurt.

With the sinking of her heart, she stuttered out a paltry explanation. 'I have a source close to him. A woman who helps with his finances over here. If I disclosed her name it would put my family and hers at risk. She has children. He's threatened her.'

Ron's face creased in confusion. 'You didn't mention this woman to the Ministry. Why the fuck didn't you tell them about her?'

'I'm not married to the Ministry. I don't trust them. Let go of my arm. I need to go and cook for the children.'

'Why were you out so long?'

'I was confused and upset, I told you.'

The grip on her arm tightened, and his voice with it, but now it was desperation rather than anger which poured from Ron. 'If you've been fucking someone else, I don't know what I'll do, Hermione. I don't know what I'll bloody do. Please ... please ...'

For the second time that night, a man was pleading with her.

She was the one with her job on the line, she was the one burdened with the knowledge that hundreds of people were about to die. Yanking her arm out of Ron's grasp, she hurried along to the kitchen, desperate for respite from needy men. Hugo and Rose beamed and cheered wildly when she appeared. Suddenly, needy children didn't seem so bad.

After a late and rapidly assembled spaghetti, she tucked up a tired but contented Rose and Hugo before taking herself to bed, exhausted. Ron was already there, lying awake, waiting for her. The sight of him filled her with dread.

Hermione crept into bed as if pretending she wasn't there. She lay turned away from him.

'You really think this World Cup thing is for real?' he asked immediately and coldly.

'Yes.'

'I wanted the kids to go.'

'They won't.'

'Oh, come on,' he moaned. 'It's not going to happen. Loads of other kids will be there. I want my children there.'

'They are not going and neither am I, not that I'm allowed anymore. And neither are you.'

'I'm one of the national coaches, Mione. Of course I'm bloody going.'

She turned her head to him. 'We still have to stop it going ahead, Ron, don't you understand? We still have to stop it. You have to say something. If the England team and all the other countries boycott it it won't go ahead. That's what you have to do. Tell them now. You can send owls.'

Ron sighed loudly, his frustration tangible, but he now tried gentle reassurance. 'Hermione ... sweetheart ... this is crazy, you're imagining things. The security is the tightest it's ever been. It will be impossible to break through. Every single person on the list has been checked and re-checked, their past examined, everything – it's taken months of planning. A whole floor of the Ministry has been assigned to dealing with it. The National Quidditch Stadium will be the safest place in the country that day.'

'He'll find a way.'

Ron settled down, pressing his body against her back and tentatively running a hand up her arm; she fought the desire to pull away. 'You never talk to me anymore. I didn't know all this was going on. I didn't know you were so involved in this case.'

'It was top secret, you can see that.'

'Yes, but, you didn't even share the stress. Mione ... I'm here for you, you know.'

She shut her eyes, wanting his words, wanting his care to disappear. The guilt was overwhelming. Ron's fingers were now questing over her breasts, plucking at the nipples. Instead of awakening that instant desire Lucius managed to do, she was reminded instead of Hugo's hungry mouth tugging painfully at her in the early stages of insistent, constant, draining breast-feeding. She wanted it to end.

And now she felt the damp, firm head of her husband's erect penis pushing against her buttocks, seeking entry. She almost wept.

His hand left her breast only to lift her leg to grant him access. She squeezed her eyes tighter shut, so tight that red light flashed behind the lids.

'Mione ... I'm here for you, let me in ...'

She couldn't stop him. Ron squeezed into her limp body, pushing himself deep inside with those low pig-like grunts she so resented in him. She hadn't always. She'd found them quite endearing at first. For many years, in fact. Now her body resisted his inhabitation, resisted the violation of long, hard demanding flesh.

But she managed to lie quite still while he moved along her from behind. This used to be one of their favourite positions, and even now, he was not an unskilled lover. She could feel the tip of his cock nudging her g-spot rather sweetly, and his hand had come round to coax her clit. She should have climaxed swiftly. But she wouldn't. She was as detached from the thrusting and groaning and sweating of her husband as never before.

_Finish it. Please finish it now._

'Shit, I missed you, Mione. Missed this perfect cunt of yours.'

She could tell he was pacing himself. He would hold back until she came. In that case, he'd carry on poking and pricking until Christmas. And so, as she had done recently, on those rare occasions she and her husband had sex, she faked it. Unable to bring herself to turn her head to him, she still managed a convincing moaning orgasm, clenching her pussy tightly around him. It seemed to work, as a few moments later his breath caught and he shuddered out his final porcine snort, stifling it against her neck while his hips jerked erratically against her.

Hermione barely allowed him to pull out before shutting herself in the bathroom and washing the sticky shame of his semen away hastily.

She looked into the mirror, staring into a tear-blotched face. The woman before her looked like Hermione, but her eyes contained such reproach, such desolation. Was it really her? Is this what Lucius saw? Is this what Lucius loved? Where was he now? Perhaps he was staring into his own mirror, barely recognising the figure that looked back. They had grown too alike, consumed by their mutual mad lust, or lusting madness, she wasn't sure which. As she continued to stare, she almost fancied that the dark brown of her eyes shifted into grey, that her lips thinned and curled as did his.

It was almost comical. Perhaps they had fucked so often, that their bodies had joined so desperately, that they were truly becoming one, that they were bound so inextricably together they would consume each other.

She laughed aloud, a sharp burst of hysteria.

_Madness._

The Opening Ceremony of the Quidditch World Cup was in three days time.

* * *

**If you're still out there, let me know. Yes, it's all getting rather fraught ... **

**Hope to see you all on facebook too. **

**LL x**


	23. Chapter 23

**Voila. Bit later than intended, but the next chapter is nearly ready to go too, you'll be pleased to hear. It's all getting rather intense. And the end is not too far off. I should imagine there will be about three or four more chapters after this one.**

**This story has been with me for so long. I think that's part of the reason I've been reluctant to let it go. But let it go I must. Not long now.**

**Thank you once again for all the many and wonderful reviews. Do join me on my facebook page if you haven't already - Laurielove. You'll find the link on my profile page or just by searching on fb. It's fun keeping in touch on there.**

**LL x**

* * *

In the day, time rushed past with malicious haste. At night, it crawled insolently, taunting Hermione's despair.

The day before the Opening Ceremony, Ron left for his final training sessions with Hermione's pleas ringing in his ears: he must warn the teams and the officials, he must encourage all participants to boycott the event. As he finally made it to the door, even Hermione heard her harpy like cries and knew how crazy she sounded.

And where was Lucius now? She pictured him in conversation with Kresvidyev, in the midst of a rising group of new dark wizards, back where he belonged, back to dominate and manipulate. The nausea which assailed her constantly now bubbled in her gut, forcing her to swallow back the rising bile.

But amidst the despair of the image of Lucius sinking back to the darkness was something else. _She missed him._ Even now, even with the world on the brink of disaster at his hands, she wanted him. Despite her decision to walk away, it seemed that if they could be together, if she could hold him and encircle him, no matter what, all would be well. When Ron had left and the children were delivered to school and nursery, Hermione returned to her bedroom, sat on her bed with her knees tucked up into her, and rocked back and forth as time slipped away yet again.

-xxoOoxx-

Lucius was indeed talking to Kresvidyev, but not in a dark cellar of Knockturn Alley. At Lucius' behest, they met in a bright, chaotic Muggle coffee shop off Leicester Square. It was noisy and both wizards struggled to hear the other. To a casual observer, it was easy to note the tension between the two curious men. The dark one leaned in forcefully, his eyes bright amidst the sharp, crepuscular angles of his face. The blond man, his own eyes burning fiercely, lips pursed, at times leaning away from his companion, eyes averted, arms crossed, at others, bringing himself close and making his point with a calm but assured certainty.

And then, after nearly an hour of intense discussion where the power seemed to shift between the two, the dark man stood and addressed more words to the blond who remained seated. His right finger was raised and he jabbed it twice to make a final point then opened the palm to hold his hand down. For a while it seemed the blond man would not take it. His arms remained folded. But with a sigh, swallowed back, he thrust out his hand to have it gripped in the long fingers of the other who then paced out quickly, pushing his way through the lunchtime shoppers and tourists of the West End.

The blond man didn't move. As customers approached him, keen to claim his table, Lucius put his head in his hands and shut it all out.

-xxoOoxx-

On the day of the Opening Ceremony, Hermione turned to Kate. In the next life, if there was one, she was sure to be reincarnated as a worm wriggling hopelessly around the court of Kate, who would be the queen of Sheba. She already owed her. And she was about to owe her even more.

Kate opened the door with her usual weary but accommodating smile. She knew Hermione and she knew the complications of Hermione's life, if not the exact details, and when her friend phoned that morning, more anxious than ever, she would not refuse her. Still, it concerned even Kate when she answered the door and found a clearly distressed Hermione clutching onto Rose and Hugo tightly.

'What the hell is the matter, sweetie? You sounded dreadful on the phone.'

'Can I come inside? I'll talk inside.' Hermione glanced around apprehensively.

'Of course.' Kate led the way to the kitchen. The children were soon ushered off to watch a DVD in the living room. Kate poured her a large cup of tea and Hermione stared as the steam rose up, curling into the air.

'I'm sorry to ask yet again but I need you to look after the children. I have to go and do something. The children must stay here, safe with you.' Hermione's fingers tapped distractedly on the side of her mug.

'Hermione …' Kate's voice was tight with worry.

'I can't tell you anymore. I wish I could, but I can't. I am so, so sorry to keep you in the dark like this. You don't deserve it, but it would put you in danger if I tell you.'

'What?'

'Please, Kate. I know I owe you, but I can't let Hugo and Rose come anywhere near where I'm going.'

'But what about you, Hermione? What about the danger you're putting yourself in?'

'That's a risk I have to take. I don't really have a choice, to be honest.'

'But for god's sake, where are you going?'

'I have a job to do. God knows how I'm going to do it, but I've got to try – no one else will.'

'Hermione, what the hell is it with your life? One minute you're a quiet suburban housewife like me, and the next … I can't keep up.' She shook her head in bewilderment before sitting back and crossing her arms. 'Is this something to do with that guy – Lucius?'

Hermione glanced up and frowned in instinctive denial. 'No … yes … sort of. I can't talk about it.' She dragged her fingers through her hair, aware of her own confusion.

'So you didn't end it with him?'

Hermione's silence provided the answer. Kate lowered her head with a sigh. 'He is gorgeous, Hermione, and I know you needed something at the time, but … is a good shag really worth jeopardising the welfare of your family?'

'It's not just about the sex.' Again, she was defensive.

'It doesn't take a genius to see that that guy is bad news. A relationship is only right if it becomes more than the sum of its parts, if it develops and nurtures other aspects of your life too. Can you honestly say your relationship with this man has done that?'

'Yes. Well … it did. At first it did. It made me cope so well with everything.'

'But not anymore?'

Hermione didn't answer.

'It seems to me that you've become addicted to each other. And, like all addictions, it needs to be broken. I can understand why it's happened. I could tell how completely obsessed you both were as soon as I saw him there, but …' Kate visibly shuddered, 'there was something really sinister about him.'

'Sinister? Lucius?' Hermione was genuinely surprised and irked by Kate's judgment. Perhaps she really was blind to the reality of her lover. Five years ago she would have been in complete agreement, but now Lucius was just desire. Her friend's words stabbed her through.

'I think I've ended it now,' she muttered, thinking back to the night at the Manor.

'Have you?'

She nodded and her heart was seared with a throbbing pain. Tears formed hot and taunting. She stood quickly. There was too much to do. 'I have to go. I have to go and …' She floundered. What exactly was she to do? She held Kate's hands tightly. 'Whatever you do, promise me you'll keep Rose and Hugo safe.'

Kate gave a resigned sigh. 'Of course. How long are you going to be?'

'I don't know. It may be overnight.'

'That's OK. Be careful, Hermione.'

'I'll try.' She clasped her friend in an enormous hug before rushing to find her children and embracing them hard. 'Be good for Kate. Promise? Mummy will be back as soon as she can.'

Rose and Hugo nodded and held onto their mother until the last moment.

At the door, Hermione turned back to her friend. 'One day I promise I'll tell you everything, all about me, all about my past, all about the world I live in.'

Kate smiled sadly. 'You're you, Hermione, that's all I need to know for now. In a way, I'm a little jealous; you seem to have all the excitement. What is it about you? I can't work it out.'

Hermione leaned in and hugged her again before whispering in her ear, 'It's complicated.' Then, tears pouring, she hurried from the house.

-xxoOoxx-

Where was Harry when you needed him? Hermione cursed his frequent absences. He was away yet again on Auror business, this time in South America. And now she had to lie to Ginny. She phoned her friend, who was already at the Opening Ceremony.

'Ginny?'

She could hear the chattering of a large group of people in the background.

'Hermione? Where are you? It's such a shame you can't be here. It all looks incredible.'

'Is Ron there yet?'

'I don't think so. But you know him – he won't be here until the last minute. He's probably down with the team. But he's got a seat in the VIP area anyway. I'm down with the general public. Still, it's more fun down here. Won't be the same without Harry or you though.'

'Listen, Ginny. I could really do with those old transcripts of our battle accounts – you know, the ones of the Battle of Hogwarts we gave to the Ministry after the war?'

'Yeah … they're in the cabinet in the living room.'

'I thought I could use them to support my defence. I'd like to work on it now – take my mind off not being allowed to the Ceremony.'

'What? Right now?'

'If I could.'

'But … I'm here. How're you going to get in?'

'Please, Ginny. You can trust me. Could you give me your entry charm for today?' She winced. It sickened her to lie about her true purpose.

'Well … I put a double lock on it. You'll have to use your own skill as well. I'm not sure it'll work.' She could tell Ginny was reluctant.

'You know me, Ginny. I'll be very careful and lock up tightly again.'

'Well … I suppose. Alright. Look, I can't talk now. I'll text you the charm.'

'Thank you, my darling. You're a star.'

'I have to go. It's getting exciting here. Bye, Hermione.'

Ginny had put the phone down, but a minute or so later the text arrived with the charm. Hermione Apparated to Ginny's house immediately, unlocked the door easily, and went in. But she didn't go to the living room and find the documents. She crept into Harry and Ginny's bedroom, opened the old school chest where Harry kept his most treasured possessions, and took out the Invisibility Cloak.

In its place she left a letter addressed to Harry, apologising and explaining her actions, and assuring him she would return it in one piece. That was what she hoped, at least.

-xxoOoxx-

As she was banned from any official wizarding event, getting into the Quidditch World Cup was virtually impossible for Hermione. But it was at times like this that being the brightest witch of her age came in handy.

The stadium was located on a remote part of the Yorkshire moors, and, although vast, was carefully warded to disguise it from the eyes of prying Muggles. Luckily, Ron had disclosed the location a while ago, and Hermione was able to Apparate to a place nearby. As she approached the precise spot, she could feel the bristle of magic in the air; she could sense the sheer energy pulsing off the extravagance of sorcery and enchantment necessary to conceal and secure such a large structure containing thousands of people. But she couldn't see a thing.

The wind whistled over the heather and gorse which, to the naked eye, simply stretched for miles around. It was hard enough for a normal witch or wizard to gain access, but for her, not allowed within a mile of any Ministry supported event, it was nigh on impossible. But Hermione was undeterred.

At first, she tried all the normal counter-spells. Nothing worked. Not even a chink appeared. But her usual foresight served her well. She had brought along another wand, her old school wand, which she had put aside for a more powerful one when she started at the Ministry. This was a wand she no longer used, a wand which had essentially been decommissioned. Its magic may be weaker, but it was still pure and untraceable. She tried the spells again with this wand. This time, the merest fizz appeared in the air before her, and in that moment, she caught a glimpse of the outer structure of the stadium and heard the roar of the crowd within. A jolt of excited accomplishment leaped through her. She tried again.

The wand was certainly more effective, but it wasn't perfect. It was taking a long time. She began to rail in frustration as spell after spell fizzed optimistically, but ultimately failed. Then, wracking her brains, she remembered an obscure entry charm Remus had taught her in Third Year. She had stayed behind after lessons a couple of times, keen for some extra tuition, and she and Lupin had simply chatted. He'd told her when teaching her this charm that it had often helped him when everything else had failed. It belonged to an ancient branch of magic which had all but died out; it was possible the Ministry had failed to ward against it.

Lifting her wand and priming all her determination and power, she incanted, _'Overtis convicto overtis assuro!'_

And to her thrilled astonishment, a slit appeared before her. It was only a tiny one, and clearly about to close again, but with fluid and instant reactions, Hermione was able to sneak her lithe body through the crack. She was in.

The ceremony was in full swing. Hermione threw the invisibility cloak over her and crept silently around the wooden struts of the outside of the stadium. At length she came to a corridor and staircase indicating the way to the VIP seating, an area reserved for Ministry officials and ambassadors. Her heart beat relentlessly as she made her way up the stairs. She passed numerous security guards on the way but all remained ignorant of her presence. Inside the stadium, the teams were parading and various musical acts were twirling and performing. It was a riot of noise and colour. Every so often a cheer so loud would rise from the assembled spectators that it seemed the whole structure would lift from the ground. But Hermione could not share in the excitement. To her ears the noise of the crowd was a terrible foreboding of the screams of thousands of innocents dying.

Up she went. Everyone's attention was focused on the show, and she made it past the remaining guards easily. This only made her more anxious; if she could get in so easily, surely others could too?

She glanced out to the arena. Strange costumes adorned the show people, many of whom wore great bird-like get-ups with colourful feathers and plumage. They were flying around on brooms, trailing long swathes of iridescent material, darting in and out of the circling team players. Meanwhile, sparks and trails of light of various hues shot out around them. It was a glittering spectacle and was enjoyed by everyone who saw it, except for Hermione. She stood now, silent and invisible, at the back of the VIP area. She could see the back of Shacklebolt's head and next to him someone she recognised as Clifton Palgrave, the man who had been so inimical at her interrogation. A little further along, amidst a sea of hair and craning necks, she could just make out the red hair of her own husband, his long body sitting up higher than the others.

The crowd whooped with delight as the acrobats and performers twirled and darted before them; they oohed and aahed as the fastest and greatest Quidditch players in the world raced around the arena only a foot or so away from them.

Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps it was all going to be fine. Perhaps she was mad. Perhaps she and Lucius were both mad and none of this mattered.

The shared euphoria hanging colourfully in the air spread a little into her. She crept forward, itching to get a better look. She was on the stairwell just in front of a viewing platform, level with the front row, but still carefully concealed under the cloak. There was a yell of support from her left. She recognised it as her husband. She turned to look at him. He was leaning forward, hands above his head, cheering and whistling as the Great Britain team were announced. Then he sat back and turned with a smile to the people beside him. And Hermione had a clear view of who they were.

Next to Ron sat Rose and Hugo.

At first she thought she'd been paralysed. Surely her blood had frozen in her veins, but in turn her heart pounded so hard and desperately in her head it blocked out any other thought. _Survival_. That was all. Survival of her children.

She threw off the cloak. Logic had gone, stealth and caution were forgotten. She was racing across the seats to Ron and yelling, screaming, her eyes wild, her legs carrying her like a fury.

'_No! No, Ron! No!' _

All heads turned to her. Immediately, hands grabbed her, yanking her back, thwarting her progress, Her arms flailed, her legs kicked uselessly in the air. Shacklebolt stood, anger contorting him. Ron turned but instantly set his face into shocked but determined annoyance. Hermione could go no further. She was being restrained by two strong ministry guards who immediately found and confiscated both her wands. Shacklebolt pushed his way towards her, followed by Ron and the children.

'Hermione. You know you're banned from any Ministry event. How the hell did you get in here?' Shacklebolt couldn't contain his rage. She ignored him and spoke only to her husband.

'Ron. Let me take the children home. What the hell are they doing here? Why? _Why?_ You fool! You utter, utter fool! Don't you know what you've done?' She could hear the sobs rising in her voice. She struggled, tried desperately to escape the grasp of the guards to get to her children. But without her wands, even her magic was useless against the heightened magic of Ministry security. Rose and Hugo started to cry as they saw their mother in the grip of two ferocious looking men. They tried to get to her, pushing their little legs and arms out at every opportunity, reaching for her, but were held back by Ron at every turn.

He spat out his own frustration. 'They have every right to be here. When you weren't at home with them, I phoned Kate. She said they were there. I want them to be here. I want them to see this, so I went to pick them up. Simple as that.'

'I told her not to let them out!'

'I'm their father, Hermione! Of course she let them go with me. They're with their _father!_ What the hell is wrong with that?'

'I told you! I told you why they couldn't be here!'

Shacklebolt approached her, cold and resolute. 'Hermione. You will be removed from here. I don't want to see or hear from you again until _I_ decide it.'

All respect for the Minster for Magic was gone She rounded on him viciously. 'Shut up! You're the biggest fool of them all, Kingsley! Don't you realise what will happen? Don't you have any idea what is about to happen right here?'

'You're not still going on about that, are you, you crazed bitch?'

Ignoring his insult, her maternal instincts screamed at her to do what was needed. 'Just let me take my children. I'll take my children and go. Ron, give them to me. Give them to me now!'

Shacklebolt carried on. 'Hermione. Don't make me do this in front of your family. You carry on like this and I'll have you formally arrested.'

'Please, _please_ …'

By now many eyes had turned to the scene unfolding in the VIP box. Hermione stood struggling, held tight, pleading with Ron, immune to anything but getting her children away.

And then there was a shift in the air, an inaudible shudder sensed only by her. And she knew it was too late.

Silently, with sinister certainty, it suddenly became darker. The bird-costumed performers had risen up beyond the main arena, and together, as one, they raised the wings of their costumes to reveal wands hidden inside the feathers. Out of the wands shot shafts of green light, clearly containing the most powerful magic. Everyone thought it was part of the show. Everyone except Hermione.

All eyes were fixed on the group of strange birdmen with green magic pouring upwards from their wands. The emerald shafts of light hit the outer wards of the stadium and, before the eyes of all the spectators, began to eat away at the protecting veil.

Hermione could only stare along with everyone else. 'It's starting.'

* * *

**More very soon. LL x**


	24. Chapter 24

**I can't keep you waiting any longer. x**

* * *

'It's not possible. It's not possible.' Shacklebolt stared unblinking at the sight above him. He mouthed the same words over and over again.

A hole appeared in the very top of the wards, and through it swept two dark shapes, clearly wizards. The similarity to Death Eaters was immediately and terrifyingly apparent. They swooped around the stadium and, at first, there was a smattering of applause, many still thought it was part of the show, but the crowd were becoming uneasy and silence soon followed. But they were not silent for long, for a sound started to build, a sound which began as a low hum, ominous and dark, but grew quickly in pitch and intensity. As the two shapes flew with oppressive ease around the arena, joined now by the birdmen who had ushered them in, the sound grew shriller, louder and terrifying, until it became a noise so hideous that no one could question its intent.

It was a scream of such piercing intensity that it seemed only to forewarn imminent death. It emanated from, or rather was directed by, the figure leading the others in a never-ending manic circling of the arena. By now the terrible shrill wailing had reduced people to their knees; they clasped their ears in agony, sinking to the ground, helpless.

Then the leading figure rose up before swooping down again towards the platform in the VIP box. There it came to rest and the black, cloud-like form solidified and was revealed as a man. The second dark figure alighted next to him. The faces of both were hidden behind hooded cloaks and masks, not Death Eater masks as such, but painfully similar. These, however, were plain. The eyes were visible only behind simple black cloth which fitted down to the top lip. The eyes of the second figure locked into Hermione's. They were grey. She would know them anywhere. She was curiously unsurprised.

She looked away, beyond the leader, across to her children.

The first masked man stepped up to Shacklebolt and spoke. His voice was low and lilted with a sensual Slavic melody, but he spoke perfect English.

'Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic. At last I meet you. Do you know me?'

Shacklebolt nodded.

'Say it. Say my name.'

'Kresvidyev.'

The dark wizard's lips curled up and he glanced around, raising his hands to the sides to indicate all around him. 'I was told that this would be foolish, that I would not be able to penetrate the brilliant and impermeable magic devised and implemented by the great Shacklebolt. It is a good thing I did not heed that advice, for here I am. And how easy it was.' He sneered. 'I will speak now, to you and to your people, and they will listen. They will all listen.'

He turned and raised his hand powerfully. The shrill screeching immediately stopped. The people visibly slackened with relief, but Kresvidyev gave them no respite. He looked out to the assembled thousands and, his voice amplified through dark magic, he addressed them.

'I stand here now to tell you of the dawn of a new order. Twelve years ago the Dark Lord Voldemort tried valiantly to put an end to the Mudblood and Muggle domination of our peoples. He was thwarted by an impudent half-blood traitor, a filthy dog, who survived due only to circumstance, luck and the meddlings of an old fool who gloried in his own idolatry. This shall not occur again. Know me. See me. I am your new master. I am your new idol. The days of Harry Potter and his mewling minions are at an end. The new order, where Purebloods rule once again, is upon you. You shall have no doubt of this. Voldemort was too patient, too circumspect. He gave away too many chances. This time there will be no second chance. You are with me or you are against me. Join me or die.'

And he raised his wand and the screaming began again, this time more potent and excruciating than ever. The spectators crumpled in agony and terror, desperate to escape it. Some collapsed unconscious through the pain and moved no more.

Those in the VIP box for now seemed to be spared the agony, despite being aware of the sound around them. Kresvidyev turned to Shacklebolt with an ecstatic grin on his face and stripped off his mask swiftly. Hermione looked on his face for the first time. This was the man who had influenced her lover for so long, who was commanding him now. His face was sharp and angular, with large, dark eyes and a thin beard and moustache which leant him a sombre dignity. Long, black hair framed it and his eyes shone out under thick dark lashes. He was almost beautiful. It was a face which compelled you to look at it.

Apart from the other man standing close by him, his other followers, who had all been performers in the show, were circling the arena malevolently, ensuring no one escaped or attempted anything. At times the screaming stopped and people slumped in recovery before it began again. It was clear, however, that after each onslaught, a few more did not make it back to their feet.

When at last the assembled security officers, ambassadors and Ministry workers recovered from their shock, they set about trying to disarm and contain Kresvidyev. But all spells and curses aimed at him were rebuffed with a mere wave of his wand. Hermione was sickeningly reminded of Voldemort – the way no magic seemed to stick to him. But more so now, she was aware of the other masked man. They were standing remarkably close and occasionally their eyes would meet. The grey eyes were still his, but she recognised little more of him behind the mask. Was this the man she adored?

She wanted to speak to him, she wanted to say something, anything, but her mind was blank. In the confusion and realisation that her warnings had been right, the guards had let her go, but now she could barely stand upright and her voice seemed trapped in her throat.

Kresvidyev paced up to Shacklebolt and circled him. With a few swipes of the dark wizard's wand, the Minister was ensnared in darkest magic and unable to move. 'You see – _Minister._ I have them where I want them. You can do nothing. Were you not warned? This was so easy. Too easy. Did you really have no idea I was coming? I have my ways. I have my means. The people of this country serve me well already, even those who are supposedly under your watch.' He glanced at his masked companion before turning back to Shacklebolt. 'You have been too slack, Minister, resting on your laurels after the defeat of Voldemort. You did not heed the warnings, you fool. And now I am here, and I am victorious.'

The Ministry guards tried once again to penetrate, but all their spells fizzled out impotently within a foot of reaching him. Nothing worked. The curses seemed to rebound off Kresvidyev as if he was a mirrored surface. The guards became desperate, shaking their wands clumsily in an attempt for something to work.

Kresvidyev merely laughed in their faces. 'Carry on, carry on! You are like Muggle children playing with sticks! You cannot break through. You see, I have moved beyond your ways. I have developed a new strain of magic known only to me and my loyal ones. You cannot defeat me. Look.' He turned and swept a hand around the stadium, where the spectators still cowered in agony. 'Your people are on their knees before me already.'

'No, Kresvidyev. _Don't you bloody dare!'_ It was Hermione. She turned to the guard who had held her and managed to grab her old wand back. Now she stepped up to Kresvidyev and held it primed before her.

Kresvidyev chuckled and let his eyes graze up and down over her. 'What? The wizarding world of Britain is to be defended by a slip of a woman? Well? Who are you?'

'My name is Hermione Granger, and I was one of Harry Potter's _mewling minions.'_

Ron stared in horror as his wife confronted the dark wizard but still opened his mouth to protest at her use of her maiden name. He shut it again before any sound could emerge.

Hermione continued. 'If you want to do this, you have to get through me first.'

'_Hermione Granger_ … Ah yes, I have heard of you, Hermione. You are very skilled, I understand, and your loyalty and devotion was much needed by Potter in those days of the war. I know these things. You, woman, are _legend.'_ He chuckled again at his own sardonic compliment as his eyes feasted on the sight of Hermione before him. Her skin was flushed with determined rage and her large brown eyes wide with hatred. 'Your ardour is matched by your beauty, Hermione.'

He approached her, and for a moment Hermione was lost in his eyes. For a few seconds, they were the most important thing on earth. She could look nowhere else, although something inside her was thumping hard, screaming at her to resist. Kresvidyev came closer, his eyes fixed into hers, his mouth twisted into a smile. It was almost hypnotic. He raised a finger and stroked down her cheek. She wanted to pull away, she wanted to recoil against it, but she did not, she could not. 'Hermione Granger. A legend, here before me. But … a Mudblood. What a shame for us both. I will not work with you, I will not give you comforts and favours, but … I will keep you, and I will use you.'

She finally found her voice. 'I would sooner die.'

He continued to stroke her face. The other dark-clad man stood close by; she sensed his body's tension. 'If you do not come easily then you will indeed die,' Kresvidyev purred.

Without warning, she let out a curse. It rebounded instantly. Kresvidyev chuckled. She tried again. This one penetrated slightly and fizzed against his chest. It couldn't have hurt, but it had at least breached his defences; he looked to her with surprised respect. 'Impressive. You are quite the little fighter, aren't you?' He turned to his companion. 'You must have come across this one, my friend? A fiendish little Mudblood, the kind you despise the most. I am surprised you did not kill her when you had the chance. I should kill her now, and yet she intrigues me. And she is a beauty. I will keep her. But she will need taming.' With that he raised his wand and brought it down with a brutal slash, hissing a curse Hermione did not recognise. The crimson streak hit her hard before she had time to react, searing her with a million needle points of red hot pain. Hermione fell to the ground with an air-splitting wail of agony. For a moment it seemed as if the other masked man would bend to her, but just then there came another cry, a high, frantic cry of loss.

'_Mummy!'_ Rose rushed across to her mother after ripping herself out of Ron's grasp.

But before she could get to Hermione, the little girl was caught in the strong hands of Kresvidyev and held fast. 'What is it, little one? Is that your mamma? Do you want her? She is a brave woman. You should be proud to have a mamma like her.' He was whispering darkly in her ear. 'I would like her for myself. She would be wise to come easily. You see, little one, I do not want trouble makers like her buzzing around and hampering my work. If she will not come quietly, she will die.'

Rose sobbed. 'Mummy! I want to go to my mummy!'

Kresvidyev stroked the girl's head. Hermione, glancing up from her position on the ground, struggled to keep down a rising wave of nausea. 'Shh, little one. Your mamma and I are still talking. Hermione … get up and come to me. There is no choice.'

Hermione pushed herself to her feet and staggered towards Kresvidyev. 'Give me my daughter.'

He smiled again and tightened his grip on Rose.

'_Give me my daughter!'_ she screamed.

'Then prove yourself to me, Hermione. Prove that you can forsake your sentimental Mudblood heritage. Turn your wand on your people and kill them. You know the words. Two little words. Easy. Do it and your little girl is unharmed.'

She stared at him in despair. 'You are mad.'

'Then your daughter is dead.' Kresvidyev pressed his wand to Rose's throat.

'_No!'_

'_Mummy!'_

Ron came running, but every curse, spell or fist he flung was swept off easily by Kresvidyev as if he was batting away a fly. Soon, he could only sag in defeat.

Hermione stood still, her nerves in her body alight with icy rigidity. She raised her wand.

'There.' Kresvidyev motioned over to a group of wizards standing staring in horror. 'Kill them. Kill them all and all will be well. You know you can. Sometimes you want to, don't you? Remember what it was like. It is easy, so easy.' Hermione turned, slowly, and came face to face with the people he was indicating. They looked at her with abject desolation, some crying inconsolably, some simply staring with utter disbelief. Amongst them were her mother-in-law and Neville Longbottom, who was still hurling useless spells in the direction of the seemingly invincible Kresvidyev. 'Kill them. They are worth nothing compared to your daughter. And you are more powerful than any of them. You can end it all now.' And she felt the power. She felt the exhilaration. She could do it. She could end it for them so easily. She glanced at the man still hidden behind his mask. His eyes shone out. Even now, amidst all the horror, even now … if she could just sink into those eyes …

'Look at your mamma, little one. She is going to enjoy using her wand, isn't she? What is your name, little one? What do they call you?' Kresvidyev cooed to her daughter. Hermione heaved but still pointed her wand at the group of helpless wizards and witches before her.

'R … Rose,' she heard her daughter reply tremulously.

'Rose. A pretty little English name for a pretty little English half-blood brat.' He laughed softly. 'How does the old English rhyme go?' And, in that low, silky voice laced with exotic Slavic vowels, he started to sing. It was the most menacingly evil sound Hermione had ever heard.

'_Ring a ring of roses, a pocket full of posies,_

_A-tishoo, a-tishoo, we all fall down._

_Ring a ring of roses, a pocket full of posies,_

_A-tishoo, a-tishoo, we all fall down.'_

Over and over again he sang it, the incessant chant as delirious and disorientating as the swirl of despair which had already engulfed her. Still she held her wand before her, still she heard the sobs of her daughter, still the low voice of the dark wizard coiled its way into her mind. Her eyes were unseeing from her tears, although she could make out the shadowy outlines of the people who looked to her for life or death. Her wand was primed. Two little words and Rose would be safe. She blinked and a tear fell. And as her focus returned she met the clouded eyes of Molly Weasley, who was looking on her, her face white with the agony of profound loss and helplessness.

'I can't … I can't.' Hermione's shoulders sagged and she lowered her wand.

She turned back to Kresvidyev.

'_I can't …'_ she sobbed.

'Then your daughter, your little Rose … is dead.'

And he raised his wand and held it directly at Rose's heart. 'We all – _fall_ – _down.'_

'No, Ivan.' The masked man beside her moved so swiftly and silently she barely saw him. He strode out and pointed his wand straight at Kresvidyev. It was enough to startle the dark wizard and make him drop his focus on Rose.

'What is this?' There was confusion in Kresvidyev's voice.

The man brought his hand to his mask and ripped it off. There was a gasp from the assembled people. As his hood fell back, the blond hair of Lucius Malfoy flowed out around his shoulders.

'What are you doing?' Kresvidyev was clearly incredulous.

'Malfoy. I knew it,' said Shacklebolt. Despite the circumstances, he still allowed himself a nod of satisfaction.

'Lucius?' Kresvidyev was clearly confused.

'Let go of the child.'

'Lucius … what is this?'

'Let the girl go and leave the woman. She is a Mudblood. She is of no use to you.'

'She is my tool. She will open this country for me as you have started to. I want the woman. She is a brilliant witch, and she will lick my shoes as she licked the shoes of the putrid Potter. Why are you doing this, Malfoy? Put down your wand, you fool. You, my friend and ally.'

'No.'

'_What?_ You would throw away your chance of glory and power for the lives of a half-blood child and a Mudblood? What are they to you? You hated Potter and his friends. You tried to kill them yourself. What foolery is this?'

'No more, Kresvidyev.'

'We agreed, Malfoy. You have come so far on this journey with me. Don't be stupid. This is the moment. To the victor the spoils. This woman is my bonus, my little cherry on top of the cake. Now, let me finish my business.' He held up his wand to Rose again.

A shot of red burst from Lucius' wand and struck Kresvidyev on the shoulder. He hissed with pain and widened his eyes in alarm, but his grip on Rose was maintained. By now Kresvidyev's followers had gathered around, uncertain what to do, but curious and attentive. The screaming in the arena had stopped.

For a moment Kresvidyev was too shocked at Lucius' actions to react. 'What is this child to you, Malfoy? Why is she different to any other half-blood scum?' he spat.

'If you hurt her I will destroy you.'

Shacklebolt continued to murmur his self-congratulatory mantra, 'I knew it was you, Malfoy. I knew it.'

Kresvidyev tightened his hold on Rose and laughed in Malfoy's face. 'Destroy me? No one can destroy me!'

The wand pointed deeper into Rose. She was crying helplessly, her little body wracked with sobs. Hermione reached out to her but was thwarted at every turn by the enchanted force around Kresvidyev.

'You are wrong,' stated Lucius. 'You taught me your magic. I may be weak and a coward and a traitor, but I know who to pay attention to. And I paid attention to you. And you taught me well. They may not understand your sorcery …' He indicated the people around him. '… but I do.'

For the first time Kresvidyev showed a flicker of concern. 'Malfoy. If you betray me now, you will be as nothing to me. I will kill you, I will squash you like the worm you are, and you will return to the dust of your degenerate and vulgar ancestors who alone will weep for you.' He spat on the floor before Lucius.

'Not this way, Kresvidyev. Not like this. Never again. I was wrong. I should have learnt the first time. I am a fool and I was wrong.'

Kresvidyev let his head fall back and he laughed. 'The words are from your own mouth, old man. So,' he shrugged, 'you will be next. I will take great pleasure in ridding you of life, worm. You are next, after her, this putrid little half-blood spawn.' And he turned again to Rose and stepped back to give himself room to aim his curse full at her. She stood stock still, paralysed in terror.

He started to mouth words. And to Hermione, the world became a blur of slow motion. Lucius mouthed his own curse and bright golden light shot from his wand, intercepting the green which started to form from the tip of Kresvidyev's a mere inch from Rose. For a moment the two streaks of light, one green, one gold, met and battled, and it seemed the green would win. But then Lucius' magic pushed it back and Kresvidyev was forced to turn to repel it. It was clearly taking all their magical skill; their limbs strained, their faces grew damp with the effort and agony of it. Hermione saw her daughter standing helpless but now free to the side and rushed to her, pulling her away and shielding her from more danger.

Hermione looked back to Kresvidyev and Lucius. The magic of those first curses eventually exhausted them both and they let their wands drop for a moment in stalemate. But with barely a breath to recover they began to circle each other. No sooner had her fear for her daughter faded than it was replaced by sheer terror for Lucius. She wanted to run to him, to pull him away, to enfold him in her and keep him for her, only her. But she watched, mesmerised, as her lover defended her world single-handed.

Rose was clinging hard to her. 'He did it again, Mummy. The white-haired man. He saved me again. Is he my guardian angel?'

'Yes, my darling, yes, I think he is,' Hermione sobbed into her hair.

'But don't angels belong in heaven?'

Hermione squeezed her daughter into her.

Kresvidyev continued. 'You disappoint and disgust me, Lucius, just as you disgusted Voldemort, just as you disgust your family. Where is your son now? Where is your wife? In another man's bed, I hear. You cannot even hold onto your own. You are worthless scum.'

Lucius said nothing but held his wand directly at Kresvidyev.

'In a moment all of this will be futile. You will be dead, along with thousands of others. I had high hopes for you. Together, we could have ruled the world. Just think, Lucius. Once again, you have thrown it all away through your own stupidity and self-doubt.'

Lucius' next curse again penetrated through Kresivdyev's body wards. It cracked through the air and Kresvidyev had to counter it with a _Protego_. For a moment he looked startled but quelled it with a chuckle before retaliating quickly. Lucius batted it off. Hermione sucked in with relief.

She could see Ron across from her, behind the duelling men. He had a tight hold on Hugo, who looked positively enthralled by the whole thing. Hermione held onto Rose, who seemed, remarkably, to have recovered quickly from her trauma and was watching with as much attention as her brother.

Now Kresvidyev hurled his wand again and Lucius had to swerve to try to avoid the curse. But it broke through his defences and hit him hard on the shoulder, causing a laceration some three inches long. Hermione gasped, feeling his agony as much as him. But Lucius retaliated before Kresvidyev had a chance to think, and this time he hit through powerfully. Kresvidyev doubled up for a moment in pain but immediately hit back, inflicting a similar blow to Lucius. Now the two of them matched each other, blow for blow, curse for curse. The air sang with dark magic, each crack and hiss tearing through with malevolent intent. But for every hit Lucius scored, Kresvidyev was back for another, and each time Lucius seemed more weakened than his adversary.

Defeating this man was proving almost impossible.

And, indeed, as the duel progressed, she saw her lover become more cowed, bent double in agony as Kresvidyev's curses hit him time and time again. Shacklebolt had a look almost of wonder on his face, and seemed to be taking a definite delight in seeing Lucius suffer. There was a gash on Lucius's right side. She could see the blood pouring from it. His breathing was ragged and his face grey with blood loss and pain and exhaustion.

Hermione was dying with him. She clung to Rose and sobbed out her despair and anguish silently. She was powerless. She wanted to run to him, to save him, to take the curses for him, but knew she would be killed instantly and her daughter with her. She could do nothing but sit and watch as the man she loved was mercilessly cursed to death.

A guard, once again her ally, was tugging at her, trying to tell her that she could escape down the steps while everyone was distracted. Opposite, she could see Ron about to do the same with Hugo. Others had already fled but some stayed on with morbid curiosity to see how things would unfold. She should go, she should leave him, leave him to a certain death.

But instead Hermione pushed Rose into the safety of the guard's arms. 'Take her to the Ministry and keep her safe.'

He nodded. 'You come too. Come on. You may not have another chance. When Malfoy's dead that nutter'll kill us all.'

She shook her head. 'I'm staying.'

He frowned, clearly thinking she was mad. 'Come on, Mrs Weasley. I'll take you to safety.'

'No. Take Rose and go.' She kissed her daughter hard and promised to be back to her as soon as she could.

With a futile shrug, the guard left, leading Rose safely away with him.

Hermione turned her eyes back to the fight. Lucius was still valiantly defying the final curses of Kresvidyev. And he had inflicted many of his own, that much was clear. Kresvidyev was clutching a wound in his side and limping in agony, but still he continued. Ron and Hugo had vanished, she saw with relief.

The two men were still circling each other, albeit in a shuffling, shambling sort of way. Kresvidyev was now pouring his curses on Lucius, whose face was twisted in agony. Hermione felt each blow as if it was hitting her.

Lucius was struggling. It would not be long. He circled bravely again, but after one more curse hit hard he collapsed to his knees in utter defeat. Hermione stared, empty, lifeless, wanting to be with him, to share his final moments, nothing else.

Lucius was now directly opposite. He looked straight at her. She met his eyes, and for the merest moment everything else disappeared. It was only them again, standing in the moonlight that first night, silent in his library, together in their bodies. Just the two of them. And she smiled at him.

His shoulders dropped and a peace came over his face.

Kresvidyev's wand was raised a final time. Hermione did not take her eyes from Lucius and he kept staring into her. They were ready.

But, following Lucius' gaze, Kresvidyev glanced back and noted her before looking again at Lucius and addressing her over his shoulder.

'Ah … the Mudblood vixen, still here. Ever determined and obstinate. Yes, Hermione, I have not forgotten you. When I kill this worm, this louse, this weak and feeble excuse for a pureblood, I shall have you … and then I shall kill you too. I warned you, beautiful, foolish Hermione, and you chose not to heed me. I shall have your body, and then you shall die.'

And then, unable to resist another mock, he looked around and laughed at her. And in that one moment his focus was gone.

'_Avada Kedavra!' _

Lucius' curse hit Kresvidyev square in the chest.

The light flared for an instant in Kresvidyev's eyes as his mouth opened in shock, then faded into blackness. He fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. He was dead.

At first nobody could quite believe it. Hermione stared. Lucius stared. Shacklebolt stood stock still, his eyes fixed on the body. An unearthly silence fell over the entire ground.

They were only roused from their staring stupor when Kresvidyev's followers emitted a scream of their own, a chorus of wailing, which rose up from them in despair and the realisation of defeat. Without their master they were nothing. As one, they circled together in the centre of the arena, and, as one, disintegrated to dust before the eyes of the onlookers.

It was over.

Hermione was immediately clasped in a bear hug. It was Molly Weasley, her face soaked with tears. 'My dear, dear girl. Are you alright? You were so brave, so very, very brave.'

'I …' Hermione smiled weakly at her mother-in-law but wanted only one person. 'It wasn't me. It was …'

She turned and was able to stumble across to Lucius who was still kneeling on the ground in the place he had delivered the curse, his eyes wide in amazement, his body drooped with exhaustion and agony.

Hermion knelt beside him. She wanted to hold him; she wanted to kiss him and hug him and soothe him. 'Lucius …' was all she managed.

He turned his eyes to her and managed a faint smile. 'Hullo. Fancy meeting you here.'

A sudden sobbing laugh escaped her. Blood was still pouring from several of his wounds. She took out her wand and healed them as best she could but realised he needed professional help. 'Someone … quickly!' A healer witch was already pushing her way through the crowd. The woman bent to Lucius and had soon healed the worst of his wounds and stabilised him.

'Will he be alright?' asked Hermione.

'Yes, I should think so. He's strong this one. I must say, Mr Malfoy, that was quite remarkable. I thought you were a gonner.'

He sucked in in discomfort as she continued her task. 'So did I.'

By now crowds had gathered around Lucius. They were clapping him on the back, reaching down to shake his hand, thanking him, weeping with gratitude, praising his skill and bravery. His past life as a Death Eater, and the fact that he had started off allied to Kresvidyev, clearly meant nothing. People were fickle. He had turned back to the light and saved them all. Lucius Malfoy, for the first time, was their hero. But now that he had it, he dropped his head, barely understanding, barely aware. Hermione was there. Hermione was safe. Nothing else mattered.

Shacklebolt, arms still crossed, came to stand above him. 'Malfoy … I knew it was you. All the time, it was you in league with Kresvidyev.'

Lucius pushed himself to his feet despite the advice of the healer and looked Shacklebolt full in the eye. 'I imagine it will give you great pleasure to consign me to Azkaban for a very long time now, Minister. How thrilling for you at last.'

Shacklebolt shook his head with a rueful tut. 'You present me with a dilemma, Malfoy. As much as it would indeed make me the happiest man alive to see you rotting behind bars for the rest of your days, there is the rather unfortunate matter of you having just saved the wizarding population from subjugation and death. Your defection may have come rather late, but when it did at last come …' He smirked. '… it was fucking brilliant.'

And Lucius smirked too.

'And so … as much as it pains me to say this … you're free, Malfoy. There will still need to be an investigation; I can't guarantee complete exoneration, that wouldn't be appropriate, but I can't see there being a custodial sentence. If it wasn't for you, I dread to think what he would have done. But, next time a dark wizard tries to woo you with promises of glory … how about just ignoring them?'

Lucius' smirk deepened. 'For once, Minister, I think you may be right.'

Molly Weasley, still standing nearby, muttered begrudgingly, 'Well, I never thought I'd say this, but … Lucius Malfoy … thank you.'

Neville approached and gave Hermione a huge hug. 'Bloody hell, Hermione, never thought you'd put me through it like that again. But … yer know, all in all, that was bloody brilliant! Just like the old days! And what about ol' Malfoy, hey? Betcha didn't see that coming! Oy, Malfoy!' He strode over to Lucius and grasped his hand. 'Cheers, mate!' Then off he went to see if he could help elsewhere.

As Kresvidyev's body was taken away, Hermione and Lucius found themselves able to talk quietly together. After all, he had just saved her child's life. In anyone's eyes, she was allowed to thank him.

'I don't know what to say,' she murmured.

'Neither do I.'

She closed her eyes and exhaled with relieved realisation. 'He's gone. It's all over.'

Lucius nodded.

'You did it, Lucius. All you. You are amazing.' He could barely react. She gave him a soft smile. 'I have to go and see Rose now. I want to.'

'Of course. I hope she's alright.'

'She seemed to be, amazingly.' She sighed before looking back up to him. 'Tomorrow …'

'Tomorrow?' He eyed her warily. The last time they had spoken she had walked out on him.

'Tomorrow's Wednesday,' she smiled.

'But …'

'Shh …' They were standing perilously close. People were buzzing round, clearly keen to speak to Lucius or her. The agony of not touching him was killing her. 'I want you so much. I want you now, so, so much.'

'Patience, Miss Granger,' he smirked. After all he had been through, he could still smirk.

'Tomorrow, my darling. Just us. As we were. Just like we were,' she murmured. 'Rose said you were her guardian angel.' She rose up on tiptoes and, swift and secret, whispered in his ear, 'You're my angel too. And I love you.'

And she slid away to her children, leaving Lucius staring after her, his face serene and content.

For the first time in his life, he was completely happy.

* * *

**Not long to go now. LL x**


	25. Chapter 25

That night, Hermione slept in Rose's bed beside her daughter. The little girl had waited up for her and Hermione sought as much comfort in being with her as her daughter sought from her mother. They lay close together and let sleep soothe away a little of the day's trauma.

The pain of the experience might never pass fully, but children, as Hermione well knew, were more resilient than the strongest soldier and more adaptable than the most itinerant nomad. When Rose made a joke about the bad man's silly pointy beard before she fell asleep, Hermione knew her daughter was going to cope. Life may be viewed differently to how it would have been otherwise, but she would cope. And her mother would be a constant source of understanding and advice. Hermione, after all, knew all about coping.

-xxoOoxx-

Hermione barely spoke to Ron that night. In the morning, he was waiting in the kitchen and handed her a cup of tea as she walked in.

'I'm sorry.'

He meant it. He was more sincere than she could remember him being in a while.

It seemed ridiculous; him apologising to her when she was the one who had been cheating on him for a year.

'No … I … I know what it must have seemed like. I myself began to doubt it would happen. But you shouldn't have brought the children though.' She sighed. 'I should have made it clear to Kate that they weren't even to go with you.'

'She was reluctant, I'll admit. I …' He fussed at the sink.

'What?'

'I told her you'd asked me to go and get them.'

Hermione tutted but lacked the energy to scold him excessively. 'Did she believe you?'

He shrugged. 'Yeah … I think so. And maybe I … used a little magical coercion.'

'Not _Imperio?!'_

'No, nothing like that, just … a little relaxing charm, just to make her more amenable. Hermione, I so wanted the kids to see it, you know I did. It was so bloody important to me and my family. I thought … I thought it was going to be a moment they'd never forget.'

'Well … you got that right. Anyway … what does it matter now? What's done is done.' Despite her husband's gross abuse of magic, she lacked the moral high ground or the energy to protest any more. She sat down with her head in her hands. Ron sat across from her.

'How the hell did you know all that was going to happen?'

'I told you, I had a source. I had no knowledge of the details though – of how they were going to do it.'

'And it _was_ Malfoy in league with him. Who would've thought he'd abandon his master again though, eh? Can't believe he actually killed the bastard. Never thought he'd have it in him. Have a read.' He passed her _The Daily Prophet._

Hermione scanned the headlines._ 'TERROR AT WORLD CUP – 11 dead and dozens injured in terrorist outrage. Dark Wizard killed by his own ex-Death Eater deputy.' _She read on.

'_The Opening Ceremony of the Quidditch World Cup was last night left in shreds after Ivan Kresvidyev, an insurgent dark wizard, infiltrated the stadium and attempted to take control, declaring himself a new leader similar to Voldemort. He and his supporters flew around the arena unleashing a curse which resulted in a shrill screeching so intense it killed 11 people and left scores of others in a critical condition. He was killed, after a lengthy wand battle, by his own second-in-command, Lucius Malfoy. Having first arrived side-by-side with him, Mr Malfoy abandoned Kresvidyev when the wizard captured and held hostage Rose Weasley. Little Rose (5), daughter of Ronald and Hermione Weasley, two of the Golden Trio renowned for their deeds during the Second Wizarding War, was helpless in the hands of the powerful Kresvidyev. Mr and Mrs Weasley tried bravely to rescue their daughter, but to no avail, and it seemed the child would be killed. But Mr Malfoy suddenly, and surprisingly, shifted allegiance and engaged his former master in a ferocious battle. Kresvidyev appeared to have the upper hand and reduced Mr Malfoy to his knees, but at the last moment, Mr Malfoy cast 'Avada Kedavra' and killed Kresvidyev. It is understood that Mr Malfoy will not be facing a custodial sentence or severe punishment, despite casting an Unforgiveable Curse, although some investigation into his dealings with Kresvidyev will occur, and financial reparation is likely._

_Mrs Weasley was also embroiled in the events beyond her daughter being taken hostage. It is reported that Kresvidyev goaded her into killing a group of innocent bystanders which included her own mother-in-law, Mrs Molly Weasley. He promised the safe delivery of her daughter if she did so. Mrs Beatrice Degbert, head of Ministry catering, amongst the group, commented: "I thought our time had come. None of us could believe it – Hermione Granger (sic) standing there about to kill us all. I thought she'd do it. She had to save her little girl – what choice did she have? If I'd been in her shoes I'd have probably done it. I've never felt so desolate in all my life. I was aware of my own life about to end, but also devastated for her, that such a sweet, wonderful heroine was put in that position. But, bless her, she couldn't do it. Such a brave woman. I'll never forget what she did for us."_

_Frank Grimblemore, a caretaker at the National Wizarding Library, also present, added, "When Lucius Malfoy, a man I've hated all my life, showed his face next to that dark wizard bloke, it didn't surprise me at all. I've never had much regard for that pureblood b******d, Malfoy. I always wished he'd been finished off in the war. But none of us could believe it when he turned coat on that foreign fella and started to duel with him. Bloody amazing wand battle it was too. I thought Malfoy'd had it. He was literally on his knees, empty, couldn't do any more. The guy was about to finish him off. I dunno what happened exactly, but something distracted him, and Malfoy took the opportunity. Bam! Dead. Fantastic. Bloody hero, he is, despite what he did in the past. We can all come good in the end, I suppose. Saved us all."_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, promised a full investigation into the incident. When asked his opinion of Mr Malfoy's actions, he commented: "I am grateful that Malfoy saw sense in the end. If I'd had better access to my wand, I could have finished Kresvidyev off sooner."_

_Neither Mr Malfoy nor Mrs Weasley were available for comment.'_

Hermione put down the paper with a deep sigh. 'There it is then. Thank god it's over.'

'I'm not going in today,' said Ron. 'Normal work's been suspended at the Ministry. Everyone'll be gearing up for the investigation. Heads will roll.'

'Not mine, I hope. I was the only one who seemed to take any threats seriously.'

'I don't see how Kingsley'll be able to stay on. I should think he'll resign in the next couple of days.'

She didn't respond. There was an expected ring at the doorbell. Hermione answered it to the woman outside, a counsellor, come to talk to Rose. 'Hello, I'm Daisy Hemmings, child liason officer at the Ministry.' Hermione shook her hand. The young woman seemed competent and caring; her warm presence immediately reassured Hermione. 'How's Rose? I'm a little early, I'm afraid.'

'No, it's fine. She's just through here, watching some rubbish repeated Muggle telly, I'm afraid. I think it's called The X Factor.'

'I've heard of that - just what the doctor ordered,' she laughed. 'Will she mind if I see her now?'

'I shouldn't think so.'

Hermione led Daisy through to Rose. 'Rose. This is Daisy, a friend of mine.'

'Hello, Rose. What are you watching?'

'Singers who are really, really, _really_ bad.'

Daisy laughed. 'Can I watch it with you for a bit?'

Rose looked up with wide eyes and looked intently at the woman smiling down at her, and, like children do so brilliantly, she made an accurate character assessment within a few seconds. Rose had decided Daisy would do. She shuffled up on the sofa and let the counsellor sit down. With a smile, Hermione slid out of the room to leave them quietly.

Daisy stayed with Rose for about an hour. When she came out of the living room, Ron and Hermione, who had been waiting in the kitchen all the time, stood up anxiously.

Daisy smiled at them reassuringly. 'She's a brave little girl and rather a remarkable one. She's sorted things out in her head already, in her own little way. I have no immediate concerns, but we'll continue with a programme of counselling for as long as she and you want. She should probably try and sleep a fair bit today, and then just carry on doing normal things as she sees fit. The sooner she can go back to school, the better. I'll liaise with the school about how to approach it all.'

'Thank you,' exhaled Hermione in relief. 'She's amazing.'

'Children are incredible. But she wasn't the only one involved yesterday. Do either of you require counselling? You, in particular, Mrs Weasley?'

She laughed aloud.

'What is it?'

'Sorry, I just … no one offered anything like that to me after the war. Harry and Ron and I, we just … got on with it. Maybe that explains things.' She smiled slightly before her face became distant and withdrawn.

'If you need us, let me know. Things have changed since the war. You don't have to suffer in silence anymore. Now, give Rose a big cuddle – and let her give _you_ a big cuddle – and then snuggle her in for a long sleep. She still needs to recover from the shock.'

'Thank you, Daisy. We'll be in touch.'

She showed the counsellor out.

After a small lunch, Hermione did as advised and watched as Rose drifted off into a deep sleep.

Ron was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Time was already ticking away.

'She's asleep.' Hermione reached for her coat immediately. 'Ron, I … I'd like to go out for a while. Just on my own. I need to get out, clear my head.'

Ron, his hands deep in his pockets, nodded. 'Sure.'

There came that twist of guilt again.

'I could do with going to see Kate later too. I need to explain things to her.'

He nodded again. She couldn't read him properly anymore. Did he believe her? Either way, he was not resisting. Perhaps he was just too emotionally exhausted to protest today.

'I … may try and get a bite to eat with her.'

'OK. Mum's coming round later. We'll look after the kids.'

'I told Rose I might not be here when she wakes up. She was OK about it. But I won't be too long.'

'It's fine, I guess.'

His acceptance of her lies hurt even more. Instinctively, she reached up and gave him a peck on the cheek. 'Thank you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Ron.'

And before he could see the misting in her eyes, she left.

-xxoOoxx-

Lucius had been busy in the Ministry all morning, telling them all he knew. He was remarkably open and honest. He saw no reason in not being so now. He admitted to a confusion and a need to reclaim the past, or what he saw as his past, after the war, and how Kresvidyev had seemed the man to do it. He had been wrong.

They were satisfied enough. He had killed the man. There was no greater affirmation of his rejection of the dark wizard. But the Ministry could not let him off completely for his aid and support of Kresvidyev, which had resulted in 11 tragic deaths and scores of injuries. The officials' attitude told of their continuing dislike and distrust of the wealthy wizard. There would be a financial settlement. Lucius was to donate to the Wizarding Commission for War Widows, Widowers and Orphans. It would not be an insignificant sum.

Still, he agreed to it readily, and he was free to go by midday.

After he had finished at the Ministry, Lucius went to St James' Gardens and waited, waited for his life to continue, for her to arrive. Draco had come over briefly, asking him awkwardly about the whole business. He was clearly embarrassed that he had become so distant from his father, so distant that he knew so little about him. Draco had moved well beyond hanging his coat on any dubious insurgents – he had no need for it – a good job, a beautiful wife, a stable social position. Lucius' association with that relic of their past sat uneasily with him, but, still, things had ended rather well. His father was now a hero, splashed over the front pages of the newspapers. That he could get his head round.

Lucius was pleased to see his son, although not entirely tuned into his visit. Still, they passed a comfortable hour or so while Draco told him his news. Draco assured him he would visit more often and they even agreed to meet for coffee the next day. The warmth inside Lucius was spreading. Now all he needed was her.

After his son left, Lucius was able to devote his patience to waiting for her again. And at 1:45, there was a pop in the kitchen.

She was there.

She stood awkwardly at first, unsure what to say, almost unnerved after the tumult of the previous day. She glanced around distractedly, reminding him of that first time she had stood in his kitchen after he'd helped her in Diagon Alley 'I didn't want to risk coming up to the front. There are some photographers.'

He just smiled. He stared at her and smiled.

'You are so beautiful.'

Then Lucius approached her, cupped his hands around her face, staring into every part of her, and kissed her.

And there they stood for minutes, just kissing.

He could kiss her forever. If he could stop time and simply stand here kissing her, he would.

'You forgot to say hullo,' he murmured while continuing to graze over her mouth and neck and face.

'Hello.'

'I missed you.'

'Me too.'

'You missed yourself?'

'No … I missed _you.'_

'You saw me yesterday.'

'Don't.'

'Can we do this forever?'

'What?'

'Stand here, like this. Can I kiss you forever?'

'Hmm … might need the loo at some point.'

'I'm a wizard. We'll find a way around it. Your mouth is exquisite, did you know that?'

'Of course. Every time I brush my teeth I look in the mirror and think – Oh, mouth, thou art exquisite.'

'Now you're being silly.'

'And you're not?'

'I'm never silly. Death Eaters aren't silly.'

'Even former Death Eaters who reverted to type for a moment yesterday?'

'Even former Death Eaters who reverted to type for a moment yesterday.'

'Lucius?'

'Hermione?'

'I'd quite like to do something else now.'

'Such as?'

'Something involving … this.' She stroked over his rapidly hardening cock.

'Would you indeed? Well … I suppose … in that case ...'

He bent down, swept her legs out from under her and carried her up the stairs where he removed all her clothes, followed by his, and entered her.

They made love slowly and tenderly, and came together, quietly, sharing the intensity in their own thoughts.

And afterwards, as always, they lay entwined, nestled in each other's bodies in the exact folds and curves they were so familiar with.

'Thank you for saving my little girl's life.'

He stroked her arm silently.

'And for saving my life.'

'Don't you realise?' Lucius lifted his head to look down at her, his brows creased a little with sincerity. 'It was you. You saved me. You have saved me. At last. _At last.'_

Again they were kissing. How could they not?

'How far would you have gone with him?' Hermione eventually asked when he rested on her breasts again, adoring the running rhythm of her heart.

'I don't know. I really don't. I was uncertain as soon as he suggested it. I tried to persuade him it was a bad idea. He wouldn't listen. And then, I just … carried on. It was as if I was running along automatically, barely thinking, just acting out of expectation as much as anything. I thought it would bring clarity to the perplexities of my life.'

'Was I a perplexity of your life, Lucius?'

'Yes. You know you were. And I didn't know how to react to the feelings you wrought in me. I gloried in them, but they were so unfamiliar, so uncontrolled. I had never known anything like it. When I was with you, I was so alive, and I wanted that for you too. Those emotions enthralled me yet terrified me and ... that is how I responded. I thought it would help me regain control. I was wrong. As things progressed with Kresvidyev, I found myself clinging more to your purity and needing you more and more until my association with him almost became habit rather than deliberation. I knew it but I was still weak. I was still a coward. I always have been. I didn't know how to stop. When we entered the stadium I wanted to be anywhere but there. I felt no excitement, no exhilaration like I did with Voldemort. Just … routine. It was as if I was simply doing what was expected of me, what I was compelled to do because of who I was, because of my past. Simply doing what a Malfoy should do.'

'You're allowed self-doubt and denial. Without it we're not human.' She stroked his hair. Her heart thudded under his ear. 'I knew immediately it was you behind the mask.'

'Of course you did.'

'I barely reacted to it. I was focused on my children, of course, but I was expecting to see you there. And I did.'

'Did you hate me?'

'Hate you? How can I hate you?'

'I hated me.'

She trailed her fingers along his arm. 'I understand, Lucius. That's why I can't let you go. I understand why you did it. That's why I'm with you. We understand each other, Lucius. More than my husband, more than my friends, you understand all I am. You are too gloriously complete as a person, as a reflection of all the mystifying madness I feel too.'

He kissed her again, hard and deep. If he could fuse to her, he would.

'How does it feel to be the goody for a change?' she smirked when he at last broke away.

'The … _goody?'_

'Yes, as opposed to the baddy.'

He cocked a dismissive eyebrow.

'I didn't do it for them. I did it for you. I did it all for you. I don't care about anyone but you.'

And again they kissed. Even when they spoke, they breathed their words into each other. 'I'll have to go back later. I left Rose sleeping.'

'How is she?'

'Remarkably well. She saw a counsellor this morning who was very pleased with how she's getting on.'

'She's a charming child.'

'Yes. She likes you.' She smiled into his eyes. 'I …'

'What?'

Hermione let out a little sigh. 'Nothing. It won't ever happen.'

'Tell me anyway.'

'Well … I'd so love her to come here. She'd love this house. She'd love exploring it and hiding and playing make believe in the big rooms.'

His eyes grew distant. 'That would be fun, wouldn't it? Having a child in the house.'

'Hmm.' She ran her fingers over his abdomen. 'Can you imagine? What if …?' She broke off.

'What?'

'No … it's silly …'

'Go on.'

Hermione was embarrassed and began with a little giggle. 'Just pretend. Just imagine if ... we had our own child. A little brother or sister for Rose and Hugo. A little Granger-Malfoy. That would be quite a mix.'

Far from dismissing the idea it filled him with a burst of joy. He cupped her breast. 'What would they be like, do you think?'

'Grey eyes.'

'Wild hair.'

'Blond hair.'

'Clever.'

'Stubborn.'

'Confident.'

'Overly confident.'

'Exuberant.'

'Beautiful. They'd take after their father,' she smiled.

'Naturally.'

She hit him lightly. 'You're supposed to correct it with – they'd take after their _mother_.'

He chuckled and leaned over for a kiss. She gazed up at him, her eyes dampening again. 'My contraception is up to the hilt though – both muggle and magical. There's no way I can get pregnant. It's a nice dream. Just a dream. But … in another world, another time – it would've been rather lovely, wouldn't it?'

He nodded, swallowing hard and turning his head away quickly. 'Yes … rather lovely.'

Silence enfolded them again until she began kissing him, over his chest, grazing along his nipples, then down, down the indentation of his abdomen, tongue-tickling around his belly button. She kissed him until he was erect again; it didn't take long. And smoothly, Hermione straddled him, guiding the tip of his cock to her opening.

He stared up at her with such awed devotion he saw her eyes clouding again.

'Hermione …'

She sank down, slowly, so very slowly, remembering him, ensuring her body ingrained every inch of him as he inhabited her. He bit his lip in a desperate attempt to focus and not hurry her. His hands held her hips, but not tight – Hermione was guiding this one. She sank down, fully encompassing him, then pulled back up until he was nearly out of her again. But just as he started to long for her, she was down again.

She moved into a steady rhythm now, never too fast, but working on him so that pleasure rose equally and sweetly in them both. Never once did her eyes leave his. Her body swayed and rolled over his and Lucius stared and felt, fixing her into him for always.

'I love you,' he murmured. 'Hermione, I love you, I love you, I love you.'

'I love you, my darling, my heart, my life, Lucius.'

She was moving faster now, her breasts, those perfect, beautiful breasts, swayed gently before him, the dark nipples hard with desire, like sentinels proclaiming their adoration.

'Coming for you, coming for you, my love,' she moaned, and as her orgasm caught her and clenched her so tight around him he thought it would last forever, he came too, hard and deep with a cry of delirious revelation, shooting his seed high into this woman who had saved him from himself.

He didn't think they could ever leave the bed. He imagined them being found, years later, two petrified bodies, clinging together.

But eventually, she spoke. 'I'm bloody hungry.'

He laughed. 'Such a way with words, Miss Granger.'

'I love it when you call me that, you naughty man.'

'I love it when you do anything.'

'I love it when you smirk and when you drawl and when you cock an eyebrow and when you sneer. You are the sexiest, most gorgeous, most delectable thing I could ever imagine.'

'And you …' He turned over suddenly and tickled her mercilessly until she was screaming for him to stop. '… said you were hungry.'

With that he flung back the covers and leapt from the bed, dressing quickly. Hermione leaned on her elbow and watched him with a broad smile on her face.

'Well, come on then. What are you waiting for, wench?' He grinned to himself, awaiting the predictable indignation.

It was her turn to cock an eyebrow. _'Wench?'_

'Hmm … I quite like that. It's rather decadent.'

'Watch it, Malfoy.'

He smirked but knew he was forgiven.

Hermione rose from the bed and dressed. 'We could just get a take-away.'

'A what?'

'A take-away. Don't tell me you don't know what it is?'

He gave her a wry wink. 'As a matter of fact, when I don't feel like putting my immense culinary skills to the test –' He ignored her blurt of sarcastic laughter. '– I do sometimes visit the Rajpoot Palace around the corner. The prawn vindaloo is particularly fine.'

'Are Purebloods allowed to like prawn vindaloo?'

'This one is.'

'Ooh, you've made me all greedy now.' She rushed down the stairs to put on her coat. As she reached into the pocket she came across her wand. 'Should I take this?' she asked as he joined her in the hall.

'Don't be silly,' he declared, removing it from her hand and putting it on the table beside his. 'Mine could do with a bloody rest anyway.'

She grinned and took his hand, and he had to kiss her again. She was his perfect, illimitable joy. Perhaps the day would never end.

-xxoOoxx-

They went out of the back for safety's sake, avoiding the photographers.

'Beautiful night,' she mused as he curled his arm around her, keeping her tight while they walked down the road. The stars were out and their breath began to cloud around them. They passed other couples. And Hermione allowed herself to forget, to pretend that nothing else existed except them, that they were _allowed_, that they were accepted, that they were a proper couple like any other. And it felt so, so good.

'Don't step on the lines,' she teased.

'Easier said than done.'

Still holding onto him, she tried to avoid doing just that. It caused them to lurch erratically along the pavement. 'Didn't you ever play that game? It works best in London. You must only step on the squares. If you step on the lines the bears will get you. It's an AA Milne poem.' And she started to recite it, still trying to avoid the lines. He held her tighter still. She could feel his delight in her through his fingers.

'_Whenever I walk in a London street,__  
__I'm ever so careful to watch my feet;__  
__And I keep in the squares,__  
__And the masses of bears,__  
__Who wait at the corners all ready to eat__  
__The sillies who tread on the lines of the street__  
__Go back to their lairs,__  
__And I say to them, "Bears,__  
__Just look how I'm walking in all the squares!"'_

She finished with a flourish, turning on the spot on a square.

'If I step on a line, will you protect me from the bears, Mr Malfoy?'

He gave her a typically haughty smirk. 'Of course. Bears see me and run. It's the hair, apparently.'

She laughed and held him even closer.

Her phone pinged with a text. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was from Kate. _'"Give me a ring when you get a chance K x" _Oh, bother, I should've phoned her earlier.'

Lucius indicated the curry house, just opposite them across the road. 'What would you like? I'll go and order while you phone her.'

'Oh … anything chicken, not too spicy. I trust you, seeing as you know it so well,' she grinned.

He leaned down and kissed her again with a smile. 'Love you.'

'Love you,' she returned.

Lucius walked backwards away from her, still looking at her, his hands in his pockets. She smiled after him, unable to take her eyes off him. He could be ridiculously endearing.

Lucius stepped off the pavement and turned to cross the road. The taxi hit him before he'd taken another step.


	26. Chapter 26

Hermione waited for time to reverse itself. It would go back, surely. It would go back and that part would be redone.

But it didn't. Lucius was lying in the road where he had been thrown several feet by the black cab, and he wasn't getting up. No. That wasn't right. _That wasn't right._

No. He would get up and he would go back to the pavement and he'd see the car and stop.

_No._ It would be OK. She waited for time to go backwards and for things to happen the way they should.

But they didn't.

He was still lying in the road. He was still not getting up.

Now someone was screaming. It was her. It was a long scream, just one word. 'No.' But it went on. It went on as her legs hurled her towards him.

There he was. He was as beautiful as ever, so why was he lying in the road? Why wasn't he getting up? His hair, just as she had seen it earlier on the bed, was spread out around him, white blond and beautiful. But it wasn't just blond anymore. There was red. There was an awful lot of red.

The taxi driver was there now, dragging his hands over his head. 'He just stepped right out in front of me. He just stepped out. I couldn't do anything, I couldn't do anything. He just stepped out.'

She bent to Lucius. His eyes were open, wide, surprised, occasionally blinking. His mouth dragged in short, dry little breaths.

'I'm here, I'm here, I'm here. It's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright.' But it wasn't alright. She knew immediately it wasn't alright.

'How ironic …' he murmured, his voice barely audible. The pool of blood around him was growing larger. She tried to find where it was coming from, she wasn't sure – several places – a head wound, another in his side. She reached for her wand. She had no wand, neither did he. She muttered vague wandless healing spells she knew were useless. She was crying desperately now, although she didn't hear herself.

'Call 999! Get an ambulance!' she screamed at the taxi driver. A group of people had gathered round, some tried to help. Nobody could do a thing.

'Hermione …' He spoke again, his voice so shallow. He looked hard into her, the grey of his eyes the only brightness amidst the increasing pallor of his face.

'I love you, my darling, my darling, I love you. I will love you forever,' she told him, over and over, stroking his face, soothing him, clinging to him. She was covered in his blood, covered in him.

He looked into her, only at her.

'My love … thank you … my love …' And then he closed his eyes and his breath left him.

And she lay down on his body and wept.

-xxoOoxx-

People tried to move her off him, to ease her away. Some tried to start CPR on him; it was futile. She pushed them off violently, protecting him, keeping him enclosed only into her. 'Get off me! Leave him alone! Leave him alone! Leave us! Leave us alone!'

The paramedics and the police had arrived. There was suddenly a lot of noise and light. But he was completely still and silent. She still held onto him.

A policewoman managed at length to coax her to the side. For minutes they tried to resuscitate him. Muggle hands and Muggle drugs and Muggle wires on the most untouchable of Purebloods. _Untouchable._ Hermione stood by, hollow, watching the scene as if through several layers of warped glass. At length they ceased their efforts and confirmed what she knew already. A blanket was placed over him, over his face. They began to pick him up, to put him on a stretcher to take him to the morgue.

She screamed, 'No! You can't take him there, you can't. He doesn't belong there. You don't understand, you don't understand. He can't. He can't.'

'Ma'am, I'm sorry but we must take him away from here.' The policewoman was trying to lead her by the shoulders. Hermione shook her off. 'You can come in the ambulance, if you want. What was his name, ma'am?'

_Was?_

She didn't answer.

'What's your name?' tried the woman.

'Jane,' Hermione mumbled flatly.

They tried again to get his name from her to no avail.

'Are you his next of kin?'

She shook her head.

'Alright, Jane. Here, wrap up. An officer will stay with you.'

The emergency services people were huddled together, trying to find out his identity. They didn't. Lucius never carried official documents on him – something which had been instilled in him from his time as a Death Eater.

'Can I go and get something?' Hermione muttered, some awareness returning to her.

'From where?'

'Not far.'

'We'd like you to stay while we sort things out. You're in shock. We need to asse –'

But it was too late. Hermione was tearing down the street to the house. She was there and, without thinking about anything else, grabbed her wand from the table where she had left it next to Lucius'. She didn't look at anything else, anything which had been that way before. _Before._ She couldn't.

When she came back they had moved his body to the ambulance. Hermione hurried, acting on instinct and need. There was nobody else in the ambulance when she climbed in next to him. Throwing back the blanket which covered his face and body, she clung onto him and, summoning all her strength, disapparated them both away.

-xxoOoxx-

She arrived with him onto the sofa in the living room of St James' Gardens, the same sofa she had arrived on the first time she had come to him that night, so many months ago. The effort of transporting such a weight exhausted her but she was barely aware.

She cradled him again as she had cradled him so often. She held him and rocked him.

Darkness fell. Her phone rang several times. Somehow she managed to tap out a text reassuring her family, telling them she was delayed. She would have no memory of doing so the next day. After this, she turned off her phone. And still she sat there, clinging to him unthinking, unfeeling, wanting the numbness.

Then morning dawned, and still she sat there with him, holding him, covered in his blood.

Sometime after the sun had risen, there was a knock at the door. She didn't register it. It carried on, becoming louder and louder, and then a voice was shouting. It finally infiltrated her mind. 'Father? Are you in? We said eleven o'clock! Bloody hell, father. I've been standing here for a bloody age!'

It was Draco.

She wasn't aware of making a conscious decision to let him in, but she reached for her wand, mumbled some words and heard the front door spring open. He came in and called into the hallway, 'Father?'

Eventually his footsteps turned into the living room and he looked down and saw them.

And he stared.

Draco stood and stared. And then he slumped to his knees.

'The taxi hit him,' she said, her voice strangely empty. 'It just came out of nowhere and hit him. It just hit him.'

Draco couldn't speak. The enormity of what was before him robbed him of any coherent thought.

Minutes passed.

And then, his face finally reflecting his confusion, he noticed her, as if for the first time.

'Granger. Why are you here?' he eventually muttered, not judgmental, not accusatory, just confused.

'Because I love him,' was all she managed.

Draco shook his head, again, not angry, simply not understanding.

'We're in love with each other. We've been seeing each other for over a year.' She was still speaking in the present tense.

'What?' Draco's voice was hoarse.

'We're lovers. I've been seeing him for many months.'

'You?'

'Me.'

'I didn't know. He didn't tell me. I didn't know.' He was muttering to himself, trying to form some sort of lucidity in his mind.

'Nobody knew. It was just us. Our world. Just us.'

'But I saw him yesterday. I only saw him yesterday. We were going to have coffee this morning. After yesterday.'

'He's a hero. He'll always be a hero now.' Again, her voice was curiously flat and dispossessed.

'Father …' Draco was crying now. Tears poured from his eyes unstoppably and he bent to his father's body and took his hand. 'My father. My daddy, my daddy …'

They stayed like it as minutes slipped by, numb, bereft of thought.

'Hermione …' managed Draco at length.

She glanced up blankly at him.

'How long have you been like this?'

'Umm … I don't know.'

'When did it happen?'

'I don't know. It was dark.' She couldn't think. She didn't want to.

'You've been here all night like this.'

'I think I must've been.'

'Hermione … we need to take his body somewhere else.' His voice was so gentle. It almost didn't sound like Draco. 'We need to report his death.'

Her face twisted on hearing the word. She shook her head rapidly. 'You can't take him away from me.'

'Hermione … you can't stay here like this. He can't stay here like this.'

'Where are you taking him? Where?'

'He needs to be seen by someone. They'll have to come here. Then there's a special room at the Ministry we can use. It's a good place. We took my grandmother there. And then we'll need to start making arrangements for his burial.'

_Burial._ She wailed at the finality of the word. Draco sucked in a breath when he heard her despairing agony. 'Where … where …?'

'In the family vault at the Manor.'

The Manor. Yes, he belonged there. Finally some reason was creeping back. She nodded slightly. Draco was being so good.

'Why are you being so nice to me?'

He thought for a moment. 'Yesterday, father was … happy. For the first time, he was happy. It was so obvious. And you … here … things make sense now.'

She stared ahead of her. 'Everything was right yesterday. We were here and everything was right.'

'Hermione, what about Weas … what about your husband?'

'He doesn't know. We were just going to carry on. Carry on forever. But you can't do that, can you? You can't just carry on, carry on with the lies and the hurt and the deceit. I think perhaps we were consuming each other, and we would have destroyed everything else in time. I knew it but I ignored it. So did he. That's why it came to an end. We couldn't end it ourselves, we never could. We'd tried before and we couldn't. Something had to end it for us.' Saying it like that, she was struck by the inevitability of it all. It had been said before. They couldn't live without each other, yet neither could they live with each other. And fate had done what it had always intended.

'Hermione … the circumstances of his death are going to be known now, of who he was with. Do you understand? Even if we try to hide it, it'll come out.'

She hadn't thought about it. She didn't really care anymore.

'Come on. Please stand up now. I'll owl the people that need to be told.'

And Draco helped her to her feet. She cushioned Lucius back against the sofa. His eyes were closed, and apart from the dark red matting of his hair at the back, he seemed completely peaceful.

It didn't take long for the wizarding authorities to arrive. If they were surprised at whom they found in the house, they acted with utter respect and consideration, dealing with things carefully and quietly. This time Hermione told them everything.

When they took Lucius' body away she stayed with him, holding him all the while, until the very last moment. She held his hand until he was finally pulled away and his fingers slipped through hers for the last time.

-xxoOoxx-

Draco stayed with her for a while.

'I'll let you know everything that is decided.'

'Will you?' She was almost surprised.

'Yes, of course. I'll have to tell mother. I'm not even sure where she is.'

'I think I'd better go and tell my husband,' muttered Hermione.

'Do you want me to come with you to your house?'

Hermione turned to him and frowned. 'Draco … I hated you so, so much. You're not supposed to be so good to me.'

He shrugged. 'What else can I do, Granger? At times like this you link to people who share things with you.'

'What do I share with you, Draco?'

'Love, Hermione. Love for him. I may have been a selfish little prick, but I loved him, you know.'

Hermione reached out a hand, still covered in his father's blood, and squeezed Draco's.

'Goodbye, Draco. I'll make it home alright.'

And she disapparated to her house.

-xxoOoxx-

She was still covered in blood. Ron came out of the kitchen quickly, his face gaping with horror when he saw her.

'What the hell has happened? What the bloody hell has happened!?'

'Where are the children?' she asked blearily, aware they must not see her in this state.

'Umm …' He could barely think. 'Mum took them to the zoo. When you didn't come home we just went into damage limitation and she took them out for the day.'

'Are they alright?'

'Yeah … no thanks to you. What … what the hell? You're covered in blood. Are you alright? Is that your blood?'

She shook her head.

'Whose blood is it?'

'It's his.'

'Whose?'

'Lucius's.'

Ron stared. 'What?'

'He's dead.'

'What the hell are you talking about?'

'I was with him and he stepped into the road and a car hit him and he's dead.'

'Lucius Malfoy's dead?'

Her face contorted and tears formed hot and full.

'But … why were you there?'

'Because I was having an affair with him.'

Ron's breath stopped for a moment and only started again when his lungs clamoured. He fell into a chair.

Silence. The clock in the hall chimed the quarter hour.

'How long?'

'About a year.'

He wrinkled his brows. Nothing made sense. 'But I love you.'

'I know.'

'So … why?'

'I don't know. I just needed ...' She couldn't think now.

He stared hard up into her. 'What? Tell me. Tell me what you needed.'

'I needed something else. I needed to breathe. And he was there and we grew closer.'

'Closer? To Lucius Malfoy?'

'Yes.'

He was breathing heavily through his nose now, his voice at last sharp and aggrieved. 'A Death Eater. The man who helped kill eleven people yesterday?'

'And save thousands more.'

He laughed derisively. 'You hated him.'

'I used to. I stopped hating him.'

'Shut up,' he spat.

'Anyway. He's gone.'

'You said you were going to Kate's last night. So you didn't?'

'No. I went to see Lucius.'

He looked her straight in the eye. 'Did you fuck him?'

'Ron ...'

Ron leaned forward. 'Did you fuck Lucius Malfoy last night, Hermione? Last night. When you told me you were going out to clear your head, were you in fact going out to fuck Lucius Malfoy?'

'Yes.'

Silence.

'What do you want me to do?' she asked with an odd calmness. She was still standing in the same place as when she came in.

'What a bloody idiot I am. I did wonder ... only recently. I thought it was Kingsley.' He laughed slightly. Then his face creased in realisation. 'I don't think I can live with you anymore.'

She didn't really react. She was beyond reaction to anything.

'I see,' she said.

He was staring at a knot in the wood of the table, fiddling with it.

'I'll live in the spare room for now until we can sort something out. When we've sorted out the children, I'll get a flat somewhere with enough room for them to stay sometimes. You can stay in the house with them here. They need their mother.' He sounded detached. He stood up and started to walk out past her. Just as he got to the door he turned. And he was broken.

'You've destroyed me, Hermione. You've fucking destroyed me.' He picked up a ceramic bowl from the dresser and threw it across the room where it smashed catastrophically against the wall. Then he turned and walked out.

-xxoOoxx-

Hermione managed to shower. She stood there as the scorching water flowed over her and watched as it pooled reddy brown in the shower base. The smoky curls of his blood swirled before disappearing. Gone from her.

Ron picked the children up from the zoo and brought them back at five. He'd rung first, cold and precise, to ask if she had cleaned herself up.

Rose and Hugo raced into her arms. 'Mummy! We went to the zoo. We saw bears.'

She clasped them to her and the tears fell again.

'Why are you sad, Mummy?' Rose asked.

'Because I lost a friend.'

Rose leaned back and studied her mother's eyes. 'Your friend the white-haired man?'

She nodded.

'Oh, but he's alright, Mummy, because he's our guardian angel, you know that.'

She smiled softly and stroked her daughter's face. 'But I'm not going to see him again and I'm going to miss him very, very much.'

Rose curled her arms around her and Hermione felt the little warm tips of her fingers drumming an affirming beat on her back. 'But we're here, Mummy, and we're going to look after you.'

And she knew they would.

* * *

**A note from me:**

**This is the last chapter of this story, although there will be an epilogue after this. It could only end this way, I am afraid. I knew very early on that Lucius would die, and I knew, heart-breakingly, that he would die in an unglamorous way. I always wanted this to be a story about the complexity of life in all its wonder, horror and occasional mundanity. And I also wanted it to be a story which could fit into canon, even with JKR's epilogue with Hermione and Ron bidding farewell to Rose together at the station. Please try to respect the integrity of this story.**

**I could justify myself about how Hermione and Lucius' relationship was not a healthy one, about how Lucius, although redeemed in some ways, was still a very confused, flawed man who had never really made full reparation for the atrocities perpetrated by him, that Hermione's marriage was not actually deserving of destruction, and I know you would all clamour your disagreement, to which you are entitled. But, in essence, this was a story about two people who loved each other too much when society and convention dictated that they should not. Their relationship was so powerful and intense that it could only be ended by a calamitous event. They could never have ended it themselves.**

**But they had their moment of complete happiness, the night after the battle with Kresvidyev, and for that moment they could imagine what would happen if time and circumstance had been different and they had indeed found themselves to be the right people at the right time. But that was a dream. I deliberately chose Lucius to have a very normal death. After all the intricate magic and extraordinary circumstances of his life, I wanted it to be very mundane and, as he says, ironic. In a strange way, it was the most normal, realistic and intensely human thing that ever happened to them as a couple.**

**I know you all like happy endings, and perhaps, in the world of fan fiction, we have come to expect them, but this one, I'm afraid, could never have a conventionally happy ending. Be happy for what they shared when they were together and the memories Hermione will hold with her all her life. And don't hate me. This is the only Lumione I've ever written without a happy ending. Believe me, if it broke your heart to read this, it broke my very soul to write it.**

**LL x**


	27. Epilogue

**PLEASE NOTE - I POSTED THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER A FEW HOURS AGO. THIS IS MY SECOND POST OF THE DAY. MAKE SURE YOU HAVE READ CHAPTER 26 BEFORE THIS.**

**So, the very last post for this story. I am posting this now, rather than tomorrow, as I feel it is perhaps needed. I hope this epilogue provides a little clarity and warmth, and brings closure, for want of a better word. I know the ending of this story has been hard for some of you. I value and appreciate all your reviews and opinions. I am hurting an awful lot at the moment, for a variety of reasons, not least because of Lucius, whom, believe me, I adore with all I am. How could I write so much for him otherwise? But ... I still believe very firmly in this story as it stands, and I hope, for those of you who saw it turn out differently to how you might have hoped, that you will revisit it in its entirety and at some point feel the same way. I have adored living with, and writing, this story for you all and for myself and for L and H over the last (gulp) three years. Thank you for keeping us company. LL x**

* * *

Epilogue

Hermione did not attend Lucius' funeral. It was held in private in the grounds of the Manor. Draco invited her and told her of a secluded, private place where she could stand discreetly, but she declined. The entire wizarding world knew of her relationship with the former Death Eater now. It had been too difficult to keep the circumstances of his death a secret. Attending the funeral would have thrown too much at her at a time when she desired merely to grieve. Their relationship had been so intensely private that she wished to maintain the memory of it in the same way.

Narcissa had been oddly taciturn. It seemed her own series of infidelities had robbed her of scorn and vitriol, even when it could be directed at a Muggle-born. She played the grieving Pureblood widow well, but later publicly acknowledged that her marriage had existed in name only for some time. After the funeral, she left the running of the Manor entirely to Draco and retired to a quiet but affluent life in Provence with her lover. She was rarely seen in Britain again.

Draco allowed Hermione to visit the tomb as often as she wished. She did occasionally, but it was, to her, simply stone. Lucius existed to her in brilliant memory, not in the pale marble of his ancestors' graves.

The news of her relationship with Lucius provided the wizarding world with a great swirling bowl of gossip for many months, but, eventually, the wagging tongues fell silent, moving onto the next distraction.

-xxoOoxx-

Ron only moved out of the family home into a nearby two bedroom flat when the children were settled and accepting of the new situation.

He and Hermione came to an arrangement which seemed to work well for them all. Rose and Hugo stayed with him every other weekend and on Wednesdays. The children settled into their new routine remarkably easily. Work kept Hermione busy and childcare became complicated, but the nursery and school were good, and Ron was there for the children. She couldn't fault him in that respect.

-xxoOoxx-

A few weeks after the funeral, Draco came to see her at the Ministry. He had some news.

His father's will contained a bequest for Hermione.

Lucius had left her the house in St James' Gardens and all its contents, including the Turner. She was now the possessor of a fortune.

At first she tried to protest, to decline it. But that was how it was. She asked how Narcissa had taken the news. Disdainful resignation, Draco had replied with a smirk.

She had thought Draco would want to contest it, but he didn't. He told her that it was an indication of how much his father had loved her. And, besides, there were other properties and assets elsewhere, as well as the Manor. Draco and his mother were more than well provided for.

Hermione asked when Lucius' will had last been amended, expecting it to be only a short time before his death. It wasn't. The last amendment had been many months earlier, shortly after their Wednesdays became regular, about the time she had first declared her love to him.

Ron was hardly euphoric at his wife's ex-lover's generosity and expression of his love for her, but he could scarcely grumble; the children would of course reap the benefits at some point.

Hermione considered moving into St James' Gardens with the children, but the memories were too raw. The house was an embodiment of all she and Lucius had shared. And although she visited it frequently, she could not live there. She had it converted into three flats which she rented out to discerning clients, whom she trusted to treat it with the respect it required and deserved.

-xxoOoxx-

Her relationship with Ron continued with surprising grace. He treated her coolly, but was polite and content enough, especially when the children were around. They never let the situation interfere with the happiness and well-being of Rose and Hugo.

They didn't initiate formal divorce proceedings. He never asked for it and she never suggested it. She knew he wasn't seeing anybody else. They were separated, but financially they remained on good enough terms to sort things out sensibly. Neither was sure why divorce never occurred; it simply didn't.

Throughout it all she missed Lucius. She missed him so desperately that at times she was not sure she would survive. Nights were the worst. Thick, black hours of deepest despair and longing she could never assuage.

But the day would always arrive and with it the need to get on, to continue.

She did survive. And the children kept her going, just as they said they would.

Time passed. It became easier. Harry and Ginny had been ridiculously understanding and accepting of the situation; she almost regretted not confiding in them earlier. They remained good friends both to her and Ron. She decided, eventually and slowly, to release the stranglehold grief had on her, and started to go out with friends again and entertain at home. But Lucius had spoiled her for any other lover. She didn't go on a single date with a man. Work was good, work was busy. It was even predicted that she would be the next Minister for Magic.

She still saw a lot of Ron, through domestic necessity if nothing else. And as the years ticked by, she thought a lot about him and talked a lot to him. There had been a time when he was the right person for her. Had he ever stopped being the right person for her? Perhaps for a while. But she had loved him. She didn't think she had ever really stopped loving him. She had simply loved somebody else as well, in a very different way.

Rose and Hugo were growing up. She and Ron, for the sake of the children, started to go on holidays together again. They shared Christmases. She sensed his forgiveness, slowly, gradually, but she never expected it or asked for it.

It was a surprise to her when he suggested he move back in. And it surprised her more when she realised that his suggestion made her happy.

Once again, it seemed they were the right people for each other. And so, just before Rose started at Hogwarts, Ron moved back in and they lived as a family once more.

-xxoOoxx-

Hermione continued to rent out the house in St James' Gardens.

On one occasion, during the changeover of the ground floor flat from one tenant to another, she went over for an inspection.

The previous tenant had been a middle-aged professor of economics who had appreciated the house and maintained it respectfully. She stood in the kitchen and inhaled. It was still Lucius' house. It was still their house.

She closed her eyes and remembered, swaying on her feet and recalling that time years ago when she had stumbled against him right here when apparating from Diagon Alley. How strong and sensual he had been. How perfect for her at that moment. She smiled and walked through the house, noting each room. Stopping in the living room, she glanced at the sofa. It was almost too much. Too many memories, too much pain and too much pleasure.

Their love had been one of contradictions, of pleasure and pain, of clarity and confusion, sometimes so right and at others too wrong. She knew she would never have that intense joy again, that love which burned so ferociously it could not be controlled. But the memory of it, pure and unbridled, would feed her forever; for that she was glad. And she did not regret.

Hermione turned and crossed to a cabinet, checking the tenant had removed all his possessions. There was one drawer which was locked, it always had been, although she knew where the key was; it was kept on top. She reached up, feeling for the key. There it was. She took it down and placed it in the little keyhole before turning it and feeling the lock shift back with a click.

Her heart beat fast with anticipation, although for all she knew the drawer was empty.

She pulled it open. Inside was a book. She recognised it immediately.

It was _Bede's Principles on Sorcery and Bewitchment, _the book Lucius had loaned her, and which she had returned in her confusion, all those years ago.

Hermione took it out carefully and turned the pages with as much wonder as she had that first time. Inside the cover was the beautiful script she now knew so well as Lucius' handwriting.

'_LM first read this book in 1975.'_

And, since that last time she had seen it, something else had been written in the same handwriting:

'_When HG borrowed this book her cheeks bloomed and her eyes danced.'_

Beneath this were inscribed the letters LM and HG, intertwined and interweaving, barely distinguishable from each other, written with the most exquisite calligraphic detail.

And caught on the same page she found the curl of a dark hair, exactly the same colour as hers. And beside it was another hair, this one white blond, long and lustrous. She picked up the blond hair and coiled it around her finger. And, even now, across time, her soul and her body pranced. The strand caught the light and shone.

She brought the hair up to her nose and inhaled. There, so faintly, was the smell of him, still here, still now.

For her and with her. Always with her.

_My love … thank you … my love._

* * *

**LL x**


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